Sir 


BY 
JOHN  A.  SYMGNDS 


REESE  -"LIBRARY 


UNIVERSITY  -OF  CALIFORNIA. 


5?V 


<£n$fltsi)   Jtten  of  Cetters 

EDITED  BY  JOHN  MORLEY 


SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY 


BY 


J.  A.  STMONDS 

AUTHOR  OP 

"SKETCH  OF  SHELLEY"  "STUDIES  OF  THE  GREEK  POETS" 
"SKETCHES  AND  STUDIES  IN  SOUTHERN  EUROPE" 


NEW    YORK 
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H   D   Traill 

POPE  

SIR  PHILIP  SIDM 

IY      J   A    Symonds  ^ 

w  BYRON.  .  . 

.  .  Tohn  Nichol. 

KEATS  .  . 

,  .  .  Sidnev  ColvinV 

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PREFACE. 

THE  chief  documents  upon  which  a  life  of  Sir  Philip 
Sidney  must  be  grounded  are,  at  present,  his  own  works 
in  prose  and  verse,  Collins'  Sidney  Papers  (2  vols.,  1*745), 
Sir  Henry  Sidney's  Letter  to  Sir  Francis  Walsingham 
(Ulster  Journal  of  Archaeology r,  Nos.  9-31),  Languet's 
Latin  Letters  (Edinburgh,  1776),  Pears'  Correspondence  of 
Languet  and  Philip  Sidney  (London,  1845),  Fulke  Grev- 
ille's  so-called  Life  of  Sidney  (1652),  the  anonymous 
"  Life  and  Death  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,"  prefixed  to  old 
editions  of  the  Arcadia,  and  a  considerable  mass  of  memo- 
rial writings  in  prose  and  verse  illustrative  of  his  career. 
In  addition  to  these  sources,  which  may  be  called  original, 
we  possess  a  series  of  modern  biographies,  each  of  which 
deserves  mention.  These,  in  their  chronological  order, 
are:  Dr.  Zouch's  (1809),  Mr.  William  Gray's  (1829),  an 
anonymous  Life  and  Times  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney  (Boston, 
1859),  Mr.  Fox  Bourne's  (1862),  and  Mr.  Julius  Lloyd's 
(later  in  1862).  With  the  American  Life  I  am  not  ac- 
quainted ;  but  the  two  last  require  to  be  particularly  no- 
ticed. Mr.  Fox  Bourne's  Memoir  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney 
combines  a  careful  study  of  its  main  subject  with  an  able 
review  of  the  times.  The  author's  industrious  researches 
in  State  Papers  and  other  MS.  collections  brought  many 
new  facts  to  light.  This  book  is  one  upon  which  all  later 


vi  PREFACE. 

handlings  of  the  subject  will  be  based,  and  his  deep  in- 
debtedness to  which  every  subsequent  biographer  of  Sid 
ney  must  recognise.  Mr.  Lloyd's  Life  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney 
appearing  in  the  same  year  as  Mr.  Fox  Bourne's,  is  slighter 
in  substance.  It  has  its  own  value  as  a  critical  and  con- 
scientious study  of  Sidney  under  several  aspects ;  and  in 
one  or  two  particulars  it  supplements  or  corrects  the  more 
considerable  work  of  Mr.  Bourne.  For  Sidney's  writings 
Professor  Arber's  reprint  of  the  Defence  of  Poesy,  and 
Dr.  Grosart's  edition  of  the  poems  in  two  volumes  (The 
Fuller  Worthies'  Library,  1873),  will  be  found  indispen- 
sable. 

In  composing  tins  sketch  I  have  freely  availed  myself 
of  all  that  has  been  published  about  Sidney.  It  has  been 
my  object  to  present  the  ascertained  facts  of  his  brief  life, 
and  my  own  opinions  regarding  his  character  and  literary 
works,  in  as  succinct  a  form  as  I  found  possible. 

BADENWEILER,  May  11,  188& 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  I.  PAG* 

LINEAGE,  BIKTH,  AND  BOYHOOD 1 

CHAPTER  II. 
FOBEIGN  TBAVEL 19 

CHAPTER  III. 
ENTBANCE  INTO  COURT-LIFE  AND  EMBASSY 32 

CHAPTER  IV. 
THE  FBENCH  MATCH  AND  "  THE  ABCADIA  " 59 

CHAPTER  V. 

LlFE  AT  COUBT  AGAIN,  AND  MABBIAGE      .      .      0      .      .      .      87 

CHAPTER  VI. 

"ASTBOPHEL  AND  STELLA" o     *      *     *      .    106 

CHAPTER  VII, 
"THE  DEFENCE  OF  POESY" »    „    .    .    .  145 

CHAPTER  VIIL 
LAST  YEABS  AND  DEATH 160 


SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY. 

CHAPTER  I. 

LINEAGE,  BIRTH,  AND    BOYHOOD. 

SHELLEY,  in  his  memorial  poem  on  the  death  of  Keats? 
named  Sir  Philip  Sidney  among  "  the  inheritors  of  unful- 
filled renown."  If  this  praise  be  applicable  to  Chatterton 
and  Keats,  it  is  certainly,  though  in  a  less  degree  perhaps, 
true  also  of  Sidney.  His  best  friend  and  interpreter  put 
on  record  that  "  the  youth,  life,  and  fortune  of  this  gentle- 
man were,  indeed,  but  sparks  of  extraordinary  greatness  in 
him,  which,  for  want  of  clear  vent,  lay  concealed,  and,  in  a 
manner,  smothered  up."  The  real  difficulty  of  painting  an 
adequate  portrait  of  Sidney  at  the  present  time  is  that  his 
renown  transcends  his  actual  achievement.  Neither  his 
poetry  nor  his  prose,  nor  what  is  known  about  his  action, 
quite  explains  the  singular  celebrity  which  he  enjoyed  in 
his  own  life,  and  the  fame  which  has  attended  his  memory 
with  almost  undimmed  lustre  through  three  centuries.  In 
an  age  remarkable  for  the  great  deeds  of  its  heroes,  no  less 
than  for  the  splendour  of  its  literature,  he  won  and  retained 
a  homage  which  was  paid  to  none  of  his  contemporaries. 
All  classes  concurred  in  worshipping  that  marvellous  youth, 
1* 


2  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

who  displayed  the  choicest  gifts  of  chivalry  and  scholar- 
ship, of  bravery  and  prudence,  of  creative  and  deliberative 
genius,  in  the  consummate  harmony  of  a  noble  character. 
The  English  nation  seemed  instinctively  to  recognise  in 
him  the  impersonation  of  its  manifold  ideals.  He  was 
beautiful,  and  of  illustrious  ancestry, — an  accomplished 
courtier,  complete  in  all  the  exercises  of  a  cavalier.  He 
was  a  student,  possessed  of  the  new  learning  which  Italy 
had  recently  bequeathed  to  Europe.  He  was  a  poet  and 
the  "  warbler  of  poetic  prose,"  at  a  moment  when  the 
greater  luminaries  of  the  Elizabethan  period  had  scarcely 
risen  above  the  horizon.  Yet  his  beauty  did  not  betray 
him  into  levity  or  wantonness;  his  noble  blood  bred  in 
him  neither  pride  nor  presumption.  Courtly  habits  failed 
to  corrupt  his  rectitude  of  conduct,  or  to  impair  the  can- 
dour of  his  utterance.  The  erudition  of  the  Renaissance 
left  his  Protestant  simplicity  and  Christian  faith  untouched. 
Literary  success  made  him  neither  jealous  nor  conceited ; 
and  as  the  patron  and  friend  of  poets,  he  was  even  more 
eminent  than  as  a  writer.  These  varied  qualities  were  so 
finely  blent  in  his  amiable  nature  that,  when  Wotton  called 
him  "  the  very  essence  of  congruity,"  he  hit  upon  the  hap- 
piest phrase  for  describing  Sidney's  charm. 

The  man,  in  fact,  was  greater  than  his  words  and  actions. 
His  whole  life  was  "  a  true  poem,  a  composition,  and  pat- 
tern of  the  best  and  honourablest  things  ;"  and  the  fascina- 
tion which  he  exerted  over  all  who  came  in  contact  with 
him — a  fascination  which  extended  to  those  who  only 
knew  him  by  report — must  now,  in  part  at  least,  be  taken 
upon  trust.  We  cannot  hope  to  present  such  a  picture  of 
him  as  shall  wholly  justify  his  fame.  Personalities  so 
unique  as  Sidney's  exhale  a  perfume  which  evanesces  when 
the  lamp  of  life  burns  out.  This  the  English  nation  felt 


I.]  LINEAGE,  BIRTH,  AND  BOYHOOD.  3 

when  they  put  on  public  mourning  for  his  death.  They 
felt  that  they  had  lost  in  Sidney,  not  only  one  of  their 
most  hopeful  gentlemen  and  bravest  soldiers,  but  some- 
thing rare  and  beautiful  in  human  life,  which  could  not  be 
recaptured, — which  could  not  even  be  transmitted,  save  by 
hearsay,  to  a  future  age.  The  living  Euphues  of  that  era 
(so  conscious  of  its  aspirations  as  yet  but  partially  attained, 
so  apt  to  idealise  its  darlings)  had  perished — just  when  all 
men's  eyes  were  turned  with  certainty  of  expectation  on 
the  coming  splendours  of  his  maturity.  "  The  president 
of  nobleness  and  chivalry  "  was  dead.  "  That  most  heroic 
spirit,  the  heaven's  pride,  the  glory  of  our  days,"  had  passed 
away  like  young  Marcellus.  Words  failed  the  survivors  to 
express  their  sense  of  the  world's  loss.  This  they  could 
not  utter,  because  there  was  something  indescribable,  in- 
calculable, in  the  influence  his  personality  had  exercised. 
We,  then,  who  have  to  deal  with  meagre  records  and  scanty 
written  remains,  must  well  weigh  the  sometimes  almost  in- 
coherent passion  which  emerges  in  the  threnodies  poured 
out  upon  his  grave.  In  the  grief  of  Spenser  and  of  Cam- 
den,  of  Fuller  and  of  Jonson,  of  Constable  and  Nash,  of  the 
Countess  of  Pembroke  and  Fulke  Greville,  as  in  a  glass 
darkly,  we  perceive  what  magic  spell  it  was  that  drew  the 
men  of  his  own  time  to  love  and  adore  Sidney.  The  truth 
is  that  Sidney,  as  we  now  can  know  him  from  his  deeds 
arid  words,  is  not  an  eminently  engaging  or  profoundly  in- 
teresting personage.  But,  in  the  mirror  of  contemporary 
minds,  he  shines  with  a  pure  lustre,  which  the  students  of 
his  brief  biography  must  always  feel  to  be  surrounding 
him. 

Society,  in  the  sixteenth  century,  bestowed  much  in- 
genuity upon  the  invention  of  appropriate  mottoes  and 
significant  emblems.  When,  therefore,  we  read  that  Sir 


4  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

Philip  Sidney  inscribed  his  shield  with  these  words  Vix  ea 
nostra  voco  ("  These  things  I  hardly  call  our  own  "),  we 
may  take  it  for  a  sign  that  he  attached  no  undue  value  to! 
noble  birth ;  and,  indeed,  he  makes  one  of  the  most  re-  si 
spectable  persons  in  his  Arcadia  exclaim :  "  I  am  no  her-  i 
aid  to  enquire  of   men's  pedigrees;  it  sufficeth  me  if  I 
know  their  virtues."     This  might  justify  his  biographers 
in  silence  regarding  his  ancestry,  were  it  not  that  his  con- 
nections, both  on  the  father's  and  the  mother's  side,  were 
all-important  in  determining  the  tenor  of  his  life. 

The  first  Sidney  of  whom  we  hear  anything  came  into 
England  with  Henry  II.,  and  held  the  office  of  Chamber- 
lain to  that  king.  His  descendant,  Nicholas  Sidney,  mar- 
ried a  daughter  of  Sir  William  Brandon  and  aunt  of 
Charles,  Duke  of  Suffolk.  Their  son,  Sir  William  Sidney, 
played  an  important  part  during  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII. ; 
he  served  in  the  French  wars,  and  commanded  the  right 
wing  of  the  English  army  at  Flodden.  To  him  was  given 
the  manor  of  Penshurst  in  Kent,  which  has  remained  in 
the  possession  of  the  Sidneys  and  their  present  representa- 
tives. On  his  death  in  1554  he  left  one  son  and  four 
daughters.  The  eldest  of  these  daughters  was  ancestress 
of  Lord  Bolingbroke.  From  the  marriage  of  the  second 
to  Sir  James  Harrington  descended,  by  female  alliances, 
the  great  house  of  Montagu  and  the  families  of  North  and 
Noel.  Through  the  marriage  of  the  third  with  Sir  Will- 
iam Fitz-William,  Lord  Byron  laid  claim  to  a  drop  of 
Sidney  blood.  The  fourth,  who  was  the  wife  of  Thomas 
Ratcliffe,  Earl  of  Sussex,  dying  childless,  founded  Sidney 
Sussex  College  at  Cambridge.  With  the  only  son,  Sir 
Henry  Sidney  (b.  1529-89),  we  shall  have  much  to  do  in 
the  present  biography.  It  is  enough  now  to  mention  that 
Henry  VIII.  chose  him  for  bedfellow  and  companion  to 


I.]  LINEAGE,  BIRTH,  AND  BOYHOOD.  5 

his  only  son.  "  I  was,  by  that  most  famous  king,"  he 
writes,  "  put  to  his  sweet  son,  Prince  Edward,  my  most 
dear  master,  prince,  and  sovereign ;  my  near  kinswoman 
being  his  only  nurse,  my  father  being  his  chamberlain,  my 
mother  his  governess,  my  aunt  in  such  place  as  among 
meaner  personages  is  called  a  dry  nurse ;  for,  from  the  time 
he  left  sucking,  she  continually  lay  in  bed  with  him,  so 
long  as  he  remained  in  woman's  government.  As  the 
prince  grew  in  years  and  discretion  so  grew  I  in  favour  and 
liking  of  him."  A  portion  of  Hollingshed's  Chronicle, 
contributed  by  Edward  Molineux,  long  time  Sir  Henry 
Sidney's  secretary,  confirms  this  statement.  "  This  right 
famous,  renowned,  worthy,  virtuous,  and  heroical  knight, 
by  father  and  mother  very  nobly  descended,  was  from  his 
infancy  bred  and  brought  up  in  the  prince's  court  and  in 
nearness  to  his  person,  used  familiarly  even  as  a  compan- 
ion." Nothing  but  Edward  YI.'s  untimely  death  prevent- 
ed Sir  Henry  Sidney  from  rising  to  high  dignity  and  pow- 
er in  the  realm.  It  was  in  his  arms  that  the  king  expired 
in  1553  at  Greenwich. 

One  year  before  this  event  Sir  Henry  had  married  the 
Lady  Mary  Dudley,  daughter  of  Edmund,  Viscount  De  Tlsle 
and  Duke  of  Northumberland.  The  Dudleys  were  them- 
selves of  noble  extraction,  though  one  of  their  ancestors 
had  perished  ignobly  on  the  scaffold.  Edmund  Dudley, 
grandson  of  John  Lord  Dudley,  K.G.,  joined  with  Sir  Rich- 
ard Empson  in  those  extortions  which  disgraced  the  last 
years  of  Henry  VII.'s  reign,  and  both  were  executed  in  the 
second  year  of  his  successor.  His  son,  Sir  John  Dudley, 
was  afterwards  relieved  of  the  attainder,  and  restored  to 
those  honours  which  he  claimed  from  his  mother.  His 
mother,  Elizabeth  Grey,  was  heiress  of  a  very  ancient  house, 
whose  baronies  and  titles  had  passed  by  an  almost  unex- 


6  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

ampled  series  of  female  successions.  The  first  founder  of 
the  family  of  De  1'Isle  appears  in  history  during  the  reign 
of  King  John.  The  last  baron  of  the  male  blood  died  in 
the  reign  of  Richard  II.,  leaving  an  heiress,  who  was  mar- 
ried to  Thomas  Lord  Berkeley.  Their  daughter  and  sole 
heiress  married  Richard,  Earl  of  Warwick,  and  also  left  an 
only  heiress,  who  married  John  Talbot,  the  great  Earl  of 
Shrewsbury.  Her  eldest  son,  John  Talbot,  Baron  De  1'Isle, 
created  Viscount  De  1'Isle,  left  an  only  daughter,  Elizabeth, 
who  was  wedded  to  Sir  Edward  Grey,  created  Baron  and 
Viscount  De  1'Isle.  It  was  the  daughter  and  heiress  of 
this  marriage  who  gave  birth  to  the  ambitious  and  unfort- 
unate Duke  of  Northumberland.  From  these  dry  facts  it 
will  be  seen  that  the  descendants  of  Edmund  Dudley  were 
not  only  heirs  and  representatives  of  the  ancient  barony 
of  De  Plsle,  but  that  they  also  inherited  the  blood  and 
arms  of  the  illustrious  houses  of  Berkeley,  Beauchamp, 
Talbot,  and  Grey.  When  we  further  remember  to  what  an 
eminence  the  Duke  of  Northumberland  climbed,  and  how 
his  son,  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  succeeded  in  restoring  the 
shattered  fortunes  of  the  family  after  that,  great  prince's 
fall,  we  can  understand  why  Sir  Henry  Sidney  used  the 
following  language  to  his  brother-in-law  upon  the  occasion 
of  Mary  Sidney's  betrothal  to  the  Earl  of  Pembroke: — "I 
find  to  my  exceeding  great  comfort  the  likelihood  of  a 
marriage  between  my  Lord  of  Pembroke  and  my  daugh- 
ter, which  great  honour  to  me,  my  mean  lineage  and  kin,  I 
attribute  to  my  match  in  your  noble  house."  Philip  Sid- 
ney, too,  when  he  was  called  to  defend  his  uncle  Leicester 
against  certain  libels,  expressed  his  pride  in  the  connection. 
"  I  am  a  Dudley  in  blood ;  that  Duke's  daughter's  son  ;  and 
do  acknowledge,  though  in  all  truth  I  may  justly  affirm  that 
I  am  by  my  father's  side  of  ancient  and  always  well-es- 


I.]  LINEAGE,  BIRTH,  AND  BOYHOOD.  7 

teemed  and  well-matched  gentry, — yet  I  do  acknowledge, 
I  say,  that  my  chiefest  honour  is  to  be  a  Dudley." 

Philip  was  born  at  Penshurst  on  the  29th  of  November 
1554.  At  that  epoch  their  alliance  with  the  Dudleys 
seemed  more  likely  to  bring  ruin  on  the  Sidneys  than  new 
honours.  It  certainly  made  their  home  a  house  of  mourn- 
ing. Lady  Mary  Sidney  had  recently  lost  her  father  and 
her  brother  Guilford  on  the  scaffold.  Another  of  her 
brothers,  John,  Earl  of  Warwick,  after  his  release  from  the 
Tower,  took  refuge  at  Penshurst,  and  died  there  about  a 
month  before  his  nephew's  birth.1  Sir  Henry's  loyalty 
and  prudence  at  this  critical  time  saved  the  fortunes  of  his 
family.  He  retired  to  his  country  seat,  taking  no  part  in 
the  Duke  of  Northumberland's  ambitious  schemes;  and 
though  he  was  coldly  greeted  at  Mary's  Court,  the  queen 
confirmed  him  in  the  tenure  of  his  offices  and  honours  by  a 
deed  of  8th  November  1554.  She  also  freed  his  wife  from 
participation  in  the  attainder  of  her  kinsfolk.  Their  eldest 
son  was  christened  Philip  in  compliment  to  Mary's  Spanish 
consort.  It  appears  that  Sir  Henry  Sidney  subsequently 
gained  his  sovereign's  confidence ;  for  in  this  reign  he  was 
appointed  Vice-Treasurer  and  Controller  of  the  royal  ueve- 
nues  in  Ireland. 

Of  Philip's  birthplace  Ben  Jonson  has  bequeathed  to  us 
a  description,  animated  with  more  of  romantic  enthusiasm 
than  was  common  to  his  muse. 

"  Thou  art  not,  Penshurst,  built  to  envious  show 
Of  touch2  or  marble,  nor  canst  boast  a  row 

1  Duke  of  Northumberland,  d.  22d  August  1553  ;  Lord  Guilford 
Dudley  and  Lady  Jane  Grey,  12th  February  1554  ;  John  Dudley,  Earl 
of  Warwick,  21st  October  1554. 

2  Touch  is  a  superlative  sort  of  marble,  the  classic  basanites.     The 
reference  to  a  lantern  in  the  next  line  but  one  might  pass  for  a  proph- 
ecy of  Walpole's  too  famous  lantern  at  Houghton 

28 


8  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

Of  polished  pillars  or  a  roof  of  gold : 

Thou  hast  no  lantern,  whereof  tales  are  told  ; 

Or  stair,  or  courts;  but  stand'st  an  ancient  pile ; 

And  these,  grudged  at,  are  reverenced  the  while. 

Thou  joy'st  in  better  marks,  of  soil,  of  air, 

Of  wood,  of  water  ;  therein  art  thou  fair. 

Thou  hast  thy  walks  for  health  as  well  as  sport : 

Thy  mount,  to  which  thy  dryads  do  resort, 

Where  Pan  and  Bacchus  their  high  feasts  have  made, 

Beneath  the  broad  beech  and  the  chestnut  shade ; 

That  taller  tree,  which  of  a  nut  was  set, 

At  his  great  birth,  where  all  the  muses  met ; 

There,  in  the  writhed  bark,  are  cut  the  names 

Of  many  a  Sylvan  taken  with  his  flames ; 

And  there  the  ruddy  satyrs  oft  provoke 

The  lighter  fauns  to  reach  thy  lady's  oak." 

The  tree  here  commemorated  by  Jonson  as  having  been 
planted  at  Sir  Philip  Sidney's  birth,  was  cut  down  in  1768, 
not,  however,  before  it  had  received  additional  fame  from 
Edmund  Waller.  His  Sacharissa  was  the  Lady  Dorothea 
Sidney;  and  the  poet  was  paying  her  court  at  Penshurst 
when  he  wrote  these  lines : 

"  Go,  boy,  and  carve  this  passion  on  the  bark 
Of  yonder  tree,  which  stands  the  sacred  mark 
Of  noble  Sidney's  birth." 

Jonson  expatiates  long  over  the  rural  charms  of  Pens- 
hurst,  which  delighted  him  on  many  a  summer's  holiday. 
He  celebrates  the  pastures  by  the  river,  the  feeding-grounds 
of  cattle,  the  well-stocked  game  preserves,  the  fish-ponds, 
and  the  deer-park,  which  supplied  that  hospitable  board 
with  all  good  things  in  season. 

"  The  painted  partridge  lies  in  every  field, 
And  for  thy  mess  is  willing  to  be  killed ; 


i.]  LINEAGE,  BIRTH,  AND  BOYHOOD.  9 

And  if  the  liigh-swoPn  Medway  fail  thy  dish 
Thou  hast  the  ponds  that  pay  thee  tribute  fish, 
Fat  aged  carps  that  run  into  thy  net, 
And  pikes,  now  weary  their  own  kind  to  eat, 
As  loth  the  second  draught  or  cast  to  stay, 
Officiously  at  first  themselves  betray." 

Next  he  turns  to  the  gardens : — 

"  Then  hath  thy  orchard  fruit,  thy  garden  flowers, 
Fresh  as  the  air,  and  new  as  are  the  hours ; 
The  early  cherry,  with  the  later  plum, 
Fig,  grape,  and  quince,  each  in  his  time  doth  come ; 
The  blushing  apricot  and  woolly  peach, 
Hung  on  thy  walls,  that  every  child  may  reach." 

The  trellised  walls  remind  him  of  the  ancient  habitation, 
which,  though  homely,  is  venerable,  rearing  itself  among 
the  humbler  dwellings  of  the  peasants,  with  patriarchal 
rather  than  despotic  dignity. 

"  And  though  thy  walls  be  of  the  country  stone, 
They're  reared  with  no  man's  ruin,  no  man's  groan ; 
There's  none  that  dwell  about  them  wish  them  down, 
But  all  come  in,  the  farmer  and  the  clown, 
And  no  one  empty-handed  to  salute 
Thy  lord  and  lady,  though  they  have  no  suit. 
Some  bring  a  capon,  some  a  rural  cake, 
Some  nuts,  some  apples;  some  that  think  they  make 
The  better  cheeses,  bring  them  ;  or  else  send 
By  their  ripe  daughters,  whom  they  would  commend 
This  way  to  husbands,  and  whose  baskets  bear 
An  emblem  of  themselves  in  plum  or  pear." 

This  poem,  composed  in  the  days  when  Philip's  brother 
Sir  Robert  Sidney,  was  master  of  Penshurst,  presents  so 
charming  a  picture  of  the  old-world  home  in  which  Philip 
was  born,  and  where  he  passed  his  boyhood,  that  I  have 

been  fain  to  linger  over  it. 
B 


10  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

Sir  Henry  Sidney  was  sent  to  Ireland  in  1556  as  Vice- 
Treasurer  and  General  Governor  of  the  royal  revenues  in 
that  kingdom.  He  distinguished  himself,  soon  after  his 
arrival,  by  repelling  an  invasion  of  the  Scots  in  Ulster,  and 
killing  James  MacConnel,  one  of  their  leaders,  with  his  own 
hand.  Next  year  he  was  nominated  Lord  Justice  of  Ire- 
land ;  and,  on  the  accession  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  he  obtained 
the  confirmation  of  his  offices.  In  1558  the  queen  nomi- 
nated him  Lord  President  of  Wales,  which  dignity  he  held 
during  the  rest  of  his  life.  It  does  not  exactly  appear 
when  he  first  took  the  rank  of  Lord  Deputy  of  Ireland, 
a  title  corresponding  to  that  of  Lord  Lieutenant.  But 
throughout  the  first  seven  years  of  Elizabeth's  reign  he  dis- 
charged functions  there  which  were  equivalent  to  the  su- 
preme command.  In  1564  he  received  the  honour  of  the 
Garter,  being  installed  in  the  same  election  with  King 
Charles  IX.  of  France.  On  this  occasion  he  was  styled 
"  The  thrice  valiant  Knight,  Deputy  of  the  Eealm  of  Ire- 
land, and  President  of  the  Council  of  Wales."  Next  year 
he  was  again  despatched  to  Ireland  with  the  full  title  and 
authority  of  Lord  Deputy. 

The  administratipn  of  Wales  obliged  Sir  Henry  Sidney 
to  reside  frequently  at  Ludlow  Castle,  and  this  was  the  rea- 
son which  determined  him  to  send  Philip  to  school  at 
Shrewsbury.  Being  the  emporium  of  English  commerce 
with  North  Wales  and  Ireland,  and  the  centre  of  a  thriving 
wool-trade,  Shrewsbury  had  then  become  a  city  of  impor- 
tance. The  burgesses  established  there  a  public  school, 
which  flourished  under  the  able  direction  of  Thomas  Ash- 
ton.  From  a  passage  in  Ben  Jonson's  prose  works  it  is 
clear  that  the  advantages  of  public-school  education  were 
well  appreciated  at  that  time  in  England.  Writing  to  a 
nobleman,  who  asked  him  how  he  might  best  train  up  his 


i.]  LINEAGE,  BIRTH,  AND  BOYHOOD.  11 


sons,  he  says :  "  I  wish  them  sent  to  the  best  school,  and  a 
public.  They  are  in  more  danger  in  your  own  family 
among  ill  servants  than  amongst  a  thousand  boys,  however 
immodest.  To  breed  them  at  home  is  to  breed  them  in  a 
shade,  whereas  in  a  school  they  have  the  light  and  heat  of 
the  sun.  They  are  used  and  accustomed  to  things  and 
men.  When  they  come  forth  into  the  commonwealth,  they 
find  nothing  new  or  to  seek.  They  have  made  their  friend- 
ships and  aids,  some  to  last  till  their  age."  One  such 
friend,  whose  loving  help  was  given  to  Sidney  till  death 
parted  them,  entered  Shrewsbury  school  together  with  him 
on  the  19th  of  November  1564.  This  was  Fulke  Grevjjk, 
a  distant  relative,  and  a  boy  of  exactly  the  same  age.  To 
the  sincere  attachment  which  sprang  up  between  them,  and 
strengthened  with  their  growing  age,  we  owe  our  most  val- 
uable information  regarding  Philip's  character  and  opinions. 
Fulke  Greville  survived  his  friend,  became  Lord  Brooke, 
and  when  he  died  in  1628  the  words  "  Friend  to  Philip 
Sidney  "  were  inscribed  upon  his  tomb.  From  the  short 
biography  of  his  friend,  prefixed  to  a  collection  of  his  own 
works,  which  was  dedicated  to  Sidney's  memory,  we  obtain 
a  glimpse  of  the  boy  while  yet  at  school : — 

|  "  Of  his  youth  I  will  report  no  other  wonder  but  this,  that  though 
I  lived  with  him,  and  knew  him  from  a  child,  yet  I  never  knew  him 
other  than  a  man ;  with  such  staidness  of  mind,  lovely  and  familiar 
gravity  as  carried  grace  and  reverence  above  greater  years.  His  talk 
ever  of  knowledge,  and  his  very  play  tending  to  enrich  his  mind.  So 
as  even  his  teachers  found  something  to  observe  and  learn  above  that 
which  they  had  usually  read  or  taught.  Which  eminence,  by  nature 
and  industry,  made  his  worthy  father  style  Sir  Philip  in  my  hearing 
(though  I  unseen)  IM men  familice  suce" 

According  to  our  present  notions,  we  do  not  consider  it  al- 
together well  if  a  boy  between  the  ages  of  ten  and  fifteen 


12  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

wins  praise  for  exceptional  gravity.  Yet  Fulke  Greville 
.does  not  call  Philip  bookish;  and  we  have  abundant  evi- 
dence that,  while  he  was  early  heedful  of  nourishing  his 
mind,  he  showed  no  less  eagerness  to  train  his  body  in  such 
exercises  as  might  be  serviceable  to  a  gentleman,  and  use- 
ful to  a  soldier.  Nevertheless,  his  friend's  admiring  eulogy 
of  the  lad's  deportment  indicates  what,  to  the  end,  remained 
somewhat  chilling  in  his  nature — a  certain  stiffness,  want 
of  impulse — want,  perhaps,  of  salutary  humour.  He  could 
not  take  the  world  lightly — could  not  act,  except  in  rare 
moments  of  anger,  without  reflection.  Such  a  character  is 
admirable ;  and  youths  at  our  public  schools,  who  remain 
overgrown  boys  in  their  games  until  they  verge  on  twenty, 
might  well  take  a  leaf  from  Sidney's  book.  But  we  can- 
not refrain  from  thinking  that  just  a  touch  of  recklessness 
would  have  made  him  more  attractive.  We  must,  how- 
ever, remember  that  he  was  no  child  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury. He  belonged  to  the  age  of  Burleigh  and  of  Bacon, 
and  the  circumstances  of  his  birth  forced  on  him  precocity 
in  prudence.  Being  the  heir  of  Sir  Henry  Sidney  and 
Lady  Mary  Dudley,  he  could  not  but  be  early  conscious  of 
the  serious  difficulties  which  perplexed  his  parents.  Had 
he  not  been  also  conscious  of  a  calling  to  high  things,  he 
would  have  derogated  from  his  illustrious  lineage.  His 
gravity,  then,  befitted  his  blood  and  position  in  that  still 
feudal  epoch,  his  father's  eminent  but  insecure  station,  and 
the  tragic  fate  of  his  maternal  relatives. 

A  letter  written  by  Sir  Henry  Sidney  to  his  son,  while 
still  at  school  in  Shrewsbury,  may  here  be  cited.  It  helps 
to  show  why  Philip,  even  as  a  boy,  was  earnest.  Sympa- 
thetic to  his  parents,  bearing  them  sincere  love,  and  owing 
them  filial  obedience,  he  doubtless  read  with  veneration, 
and  observed  with  loyalty,  the  words  of  wisdom — wiser 


i.]  LINEAGE,  BIRTH,  AND  BOYHOOD.  13 

than  those  with  which  Polonius  took  farewell  of  Laertes 
— dictated  for  him  by  the  upright  and  valiant  man  whom 
he  called  father.  Long  as  it  is,  I  shall  give  it  in  full ;  for 
nothing  could  better  bring  before  our  eyes  the  ideal  of 
conduct  which  then  ruled  English  gentlefolk : — 

"  I  have  received  two  letters  from  you,  one  written  in  Latin,  the 
other  in  French ;  which  I  take  in  good  part,  and  wish  you  to  exercise 
that  practice  of  learning  often ;  for  that  will  stand  you  in  most  stead 
in  that  profession  of  life  that  you  are  born  to  live  in.  And  since  this 
is  my  first  letter  that  ever  I  did  write  to  you,  I  will  not  that  it  be  all 
empty  of  some  advices,  which  my  natural  care  for  you  provoketh  me 
to  wish  you  to  follow,  as  documents  to  you  in  this  your  tender  age. 
-Let  your  first  action  be  the  lifting  up  of  your  mind  to  Almighty  God 
by  hearty  prayer ;  and  feelingly  digest  the  words  you  speak  in  prayer, 
with  continual  meditation  and  thinking  of  Him  to  whom  you  pray  and 
of  the  matter  for  which  you  pray.  And  use  this  as  an  ordinary  act, 
and  at  an  ordinary  hour,  whereby  the  time  itself  shall  put  you  in  re- 
membrance to  do  that  which  you  are  accustomed  to  do  in  that  time. 
Apply  your  study  to  such  hours  as  your  discreet  master  doth  assign 
you,  earnestly ;  and  the  time  I  know  he  will  so  limit  as  shall  be  both 
sufficient  for  your  learning  and  safe  for  your  health.  And  mark  the 
sense  and  the  matter  of  that  you  read,  as  well  as  the  words.  So  shall 
you  both  enrich  your  tongue  with  words  and  your  wit  with  matter ; 
and  judgment  will  grow  as  years  groweth  in  you.  Be  humble  and 
obedient  to  your  master,  for  unless  you  frame  yourself  to  obey  others, 
yea,  and  feel  in  yourself  what  obedience  is,  you  shall  never  be  able  to 
teach  others  how  to  obey  you.  Be  courteous  of  gesture  and  affable  to 
all  men,  with  diversity  of  reverence  according  to  the  dignity  of  the 
person :  there  is  nothing  that  winneth  so  much  with  so  little  cost. 
Use  moderate  diet,  so  as  after  your  meal  you  may  find  your  wit  fresher 
and  not  duller,  and  your  body  more  lively  and  not  more  heavy.  Sel- 
dom drink  wine,  and  yet  sometimes  do,  lest  being  enforced  to  drink 
upon  the  sudden  you  should  find  yourself  inflamed.  Use  exercise  of 
body,  yet  such  as  is  without  peril  of  your  joints  or  bones ;  it  will  in- 
crease your  force  and  enlarge  your  breath.  Delight  to  be  cleanly,  as 
well  in  all  parts  of  your  body  as  in  your  garments :  it  shall  make  you 
grateful  in  each  company,  and  otherwise  loathsome.  Give  yourself  to 


H  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

be  merry,  for  you  degenerate  from  your  father  if  you  find  not  your- 
self  most  able  in  wit  and  body  and  to  do  anything  when  you  be  most 
merry;  but  let  your  mirth  be  ever  void  of  all  scurrility  and  biting 
words  to  any  man,  for  a  wound  given  by  a  word  is  oftentimes  harder 
to  be  cured  than  that  which  is  given  with  the  sword.  Be  you  rather 
a  hearer  and  bearer  away  of  other  men's  talk  than  a  beginner  and 
procurer  of  speech  ;  otherwise  you  shall  be  counted  to  delight  to  hear 
yourself  speak.  If  you  hear  a  wise  sentence  or  an  apt  phrase  commit 
it  to  your  memory  with  respect  of  the  circumstance  when  you  shall 
speak  it.  Let  never  oath  be  heard  to  come  out  of  your  mouth  nor 
word  of  ribaldry ;  detest  it  in  others ;  so  shall  custom  make  to  your- 
self a  law  against  it  in  yourself.  Be  modest  in  each  assembly ;  and 
rather  be  rebuked  of  light  fellows  for  maiden-like  shamefastness  than 
of  your  sad  friends  for  pert  boldness.  Think  upon  every  word  that 
you  will  speak  before  you  utter  it,  and  remember  how  nature  hath 
ramparted  up,  as  it  were,  the  tongue  with  teeth,  lips,  yea,  and  hair 
without  the  lips,  and  all  betokening  reins  or  bridles  for  the  loose  use 
of  that  member.  Above  all  things,  tell  no  untruth ;  no,  not  in  trifles : 
the  custom  of  it  is  naughty.  And  let  it  not  satisfy  you  that,  for  a 
time,  the  hearers  take  it  for  truth  ;  for  after  it  will  be  known  as  it  is, 
to  your  shame  ;  for  there  cannot  be  a  greater  reproach  to  a  gentleman 
than  to  be  accounted  a  liar.  Study  and  endeavour  yourself  to  be  virt- 
uously occupied,  so  shall  you  make  such  a  habit  of  well-doing  in  you 
that  you  shall  not  know  how  to  do  evil,  though  you  would.  Remem- 
ber, my  son,  the  noble  blood  you  are  descended  of,  by  your  mother's 
side ;  and  think  that  only  by  virtuous  life  and  good  action  you  may 
be  an  ornament  to  that  illustrious  family,  and  otherwise,  through  vice 
and  sloth  you  shall  be  counted  labes  generis,  one  of  the  greatest  curses 
that  can  happen  to  man.  Well,  my  little  Philip,  this  is  enough  for 
me,  and  too  much,  I  fear,  for  you.  But  if  I  shall  find  that  this  light 
meal  of  digestion  nourisheth  anything  in  the  weak  stomach  of  your 
capacity,  I  will,  as  I  find  the  same  grow  stronger,  feed  it  with  tougher 
food. — Your  loving  father,  so  long  as  you  live  in  the  fear  of  God, 

"  H.  SIDNEY." 

To  this  epistle  Lady  Mary  Sidney  added  a  postscript, 
which,  if  it  is  less  correct  in  style  and  weighty  with  wise 
counsel,  interests  us  by  its  warm  and  motherly  affection. 


i.]  LINEAGE,  BIRTH,  AND  BO¥HOOIt-—  15 


"  Your  noble  and  careful  father  hath  taken  pains  (with  his  own 
hand)  to  give  you  in  this  his  letter  so  wise,  so  learned,  and  most  req- 
uisite precepts  for  you  to  follow  with  a  diligent  and  humble  thank- 
ful mind,  as  I  will  not  withdraw  your  eyes  from  beholding  and  rever- 
ent honouring  the  same, — no,  not  so  long  time  as  to  read  any  letter 
from  me  ;  and  therefore  at  this  time  I  will  write  no  other  letter  than 
this  :  and  hereby  I  first  bless  you  with  my  desire  to  God  to  plant  in 
you  His  grace,  and  secondarily  warn  you  to  have  always  before  the  eyes 
of  your  mind  those  excellent  counsels  of  my  lord,  your  dear  father, 
and  that  you  fail  not  continually  once  in  four  or  five  days  to  read 
them  over.  And  for  a  final  leave-taking  for  this  time,  see  that  you 
show  yourself  a  loving  obedient  scholar  to  your  good  master,  and  that 
my  lord  and  I  may  hear  that  you  profit  so  in  your  learning  as  there- 
by you  may  increase  our  loving  care  of  you,  and  deserve  at  his  hands 
the  continuance  of  his  great  joys,  to  have  him  often  witness  with  his 
own  hand  the  hope  he  hath  in  your  well-doing. 

"  Farewell,  my  little  Philip,  and  once  again  the  Lord  bless  you. — 
Your  loving  mother,  MARY  SIDNEY." 


In  those  days  boys  did  not  wait  till  they  were  grown 
men  before  they  went  to  college.  Sidney  left  Shrewsbury 
in  1568,  and  began  residence  at  Christ  Church.  He  was 
still  in  his  fourteenth  year.  There  he  stayed  until  some 
time  in  1571,  when  he  quitted  Oxford  without  having  tak- 
en a  degree.  In  this  omission  there  was  nothing  singular. 
His  quality  rendered  bachelorship  or  mastership  of  arts  in- 
different to  him ;  and  academical  habits  were  then  far  freer 
than  in  our  times.  That  he  studied  diligently  is,  however, 
certain.  The  unknown  writer  named  Philophilippus,  who 
prefixed  a  short  essay  on  "The  Life  and  Death  of  Sir 
Philip  Sidney  "  to  the  Arcadia,  speaks  thus  in  his  quaint 
language  of  the  years  spent  at  Oxford :  "  Here  an  excellent) 
stock  met  with  the  choicest  grafts ;  nor  could  his  tutors  / 
pour  in  so  fast  as  he  was  ready  to  receive."  The  Dean  of 
Christ  Church,  Dr.  Thomas  Thornton,  had  it  afterwards  en-^ 


16  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

graved  upon  his  own  tomb  at  Ledbury  that  he  had  been 
the  preceptor  of  "  Philip  Sidney,  that  most  noble  Knight." 
We  possess  few  particulars  which  throw  any  light  upon 
Sidney's  academical  career.  There  is  some  reason,  how- 
ever, to  believe  that  liberal  learning  at  this  period  flourished 
less  upon  the  banks  of  the  Isis  than  at  Cambridge  and  in 
our  public  schools.  Bruno,  in  his  account  of  a  visit  to 
Oxford  ten  years  later,  introduces  us  to  a  set  of  pompous 
pedants,  steeped  in  mediaeval  scholasticism  and  heavy  with 
the  indolence  of  fat  fellowships.  Here,  however,  Sidney 
made  the  second  great  friendship  of  his  youth.  It  was 
with  Edward  Dyer,  a  man  of  quality  and  parts,  who  claims 
distinction  as  an  English  poet  principally  by  one  faultless 
line:  "My  mind  to  me  a  kingdom  is."  Sir  Edward  Dyer 
and  Sir  Fulke  Greville  lived  in  bonds  of  closest  affection 
with  Sir  Philip  Sidney  through  his  life,  and  walked  togeth- 
er as  pall-bearers  at  his  funeral.  That  was  an  age  in  which 
friendship  easily  assumed  the  accents  of  passionate  love. 
I  may  use  this  occasion  to  quote  verses  which  Sidney 
wrote  at  a  later  period  regarding  his  two  comrades.  He 
had  recently  returned  from  Wilton  to  the  Court,  and  found 
there  both  Greville  and  Dyer. 

"  My  two  and  I  be  met, 
A  blessed  happy  trinity, 

As  three  most  jointly  set 
In  firmest  bond  of  unity. 

Join  hearts  and  hands,  so  let  it  be ; 

Make  but  one  mind  in  bodies  three. 

"  Welcome  my  two  to  me, 
The  number  best  beloved  ; 

Within  the  heart  you  be 
In  friendship  unremoved. 

Join  hearts  and  hands,  so  let  it  be ; 

Make  but  one  mind  in  bodies  three." 


I.]  LINEAGE,  BIRTH,  AND  BOYHOOD.  17 

And  again,  when  tired  of  the  Court,  and  sighing  for  the 
country,  he  offers  up  a  prayer  to  Pan,  according  to  the  pas- 
toral fashion  of  the  age,  in  which  his  two  heart's  brothers 
are  remembered : — 

"  Only  for  my  two  loves'  sake, 
la  whose  love  I  pleasure  take ; 
Only  two  do  me  delight 
With  their  ever-pleasing  sight ; 
Of  all  men  to  thee  retaining 
Grant  me  with  those  two  remaining." 

As  poetry  these  pieces  are  scarcely  worth  citation.  But 
they  agreeably  illustrate  their  author's  capacity  for  friend- 
ship. 

It  was  also  from  Oxford  that  Sidney  sent  the  first  letter 
still  extant  in  his  writing.  This  is  a  somewhat  laboured 
Latin  epistle  to  his  uncle  Leicester.  Elizabeth's  favourite 
had  taken  his  nephew  under  special  protection.  It  was 
indeed  commonly  accepted  for  certain  that,  failing  legiti- 
mate issue,  the  Earl  intended  to  make  Philip  his  heir.  This 
expectation  helps  us  to  understand  the  singular  respect 
paid  him  through  these  years  of  early  manhood.  Sir  Hen- 
ry Sidney  was  far  from  being  a  rich  man.  His  duties  in 
Ireland  and  Wales  removed  him  from  the  circle  of  the 
Court,  and  his  bluntness  of  speech  made  him  unacceptable 
to  the  queen.  Philip  therefore  owed  more  of  his  prestige 
to  his  uncle  than  to  his  father.  At  this  time  Leicester  ap- 
pears to  have  been  negotiating  a  marriage  contract  between 
the  lad  at  Christ  Church  and  Anne  Cecil,  daughter  of  Lord 
Burleigh.  Articles  had  been  drawn  up.  But  the  matter 
fell  through ;  the  powerful  Secretary  of  State  judging  that 
he  could  make  a  better  match  for  his  girl  than  with  the 
son  of  a  needy  knight,  whose  expectations  of  succeeding  to 
Leicester's  estate  were  problematical.  Politely  but  plainly 
2 


18  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP.I, 

he  extricated  himself  from  the  engagement,  and  bestowed 
Anne  upon  Edward  de  Vere,  the  dissolute  and  brutal  Earl 
of  Oxford.  This  passage  in  the  life  of  Sidney  is  insignifi- 
cant. That  the  boy  of  sixteen  could  have  entertained  any 
strong  feeling  for  his  projected  bride  will  hardly  admit  of 
belief.  One  of  his  biographers,  however,  notices  that  about 
the  time  when  the  matter  terminated  in  Anne's  betrothal 
to  the  Earl  of  Oxford,  Philip  fell  into  bad  health.  Leices- 
ter had  to  obtain  permission  for  him  to  eat  flesh  in  Lent 
from  no  less  a  personage  than  Doctor  Parker,  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury. 


CHAPTER  II 

FOREIGN    TRAVEL. 

IT  is  not  the  business  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney's  biographer  to 
discuss  Elizabeth's  Irish  policy  at  length.  Yet  his  father's 
position  as  governor  of  the  island  renders  some  allusion  to 
those  affairs  indispensable.  Sir  Henry  Sidney  was  a  brave 
and  eminently  honest  man,  the  sturdy  servant  of  his  sov- 
ereign, active  in  the  discharge  of  his  duties,  and  untainted 
by  corrupt  practice.  But  he  cannot  be  said  to  have  dis- 
played the  sagacity  of  genius  in  his  dealings  with  the  Irish. 
He  carried  out  instructions  like  a  blunt  proconsul — extir- 
pating O'Neil's  rebellion,  suppressing  the  Butlers'  war, 
maintaining  English  interests,  and  exercising  impartial  jus- 
tice. The  purity  of  his  administration  is  beyond  all  doubt. 
Instead  of  enriching  himself  by  arts  familiar  to  viceroys, 
he  spent  in  each  year  of  his  office  more  than  its  emolu- 
ments were  worth,  and  seriously  compromised  his  private 
fortune.  Instead  of  making  friends  at  Court  he  contrived, 
by  his  straightforward  dealing,  to  offend  the  brilliant  and 
subtle  Earl  of  Ormond.  While  Sir  Henry  was  losing 
health,  money,  and  the  delights  of  life  among  the  bogs  and 
wastes  of  Ulster,  Ormond  remained  attached  to  the  queen's 
person.  His  beauty  and  adroit  flattery  enabled  him  to 
prejudice  Elizabeth  against  her  faithful  henchman.  Broken 
in  health  by  a  painful  disease  contracted  in  the  hardship 


20  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

of  successive  campaigns,  maddened  by  his  sovereign's  re- 
criminations, and  disgusted  by  her  parsimony,  Sir  Henry 
Sidney  returned  in  1571  to  England.  He  was  now  a  man 
of  forty-three,  with  an  impaired  constitution  and  a  dimin- 
ished estate.  His  wife  had  lost  her  good  looks  in  the 
small -pox,  which  she  caught  while  nursing  the  queen 
through  an  attack  of  that  malady.  Of  this  noble  lady,  so 
patient  in  the  many  disasters  of  her  troubled  life,  Fulke 
Greville  writes:  "She  chose  rather  to  hide  herself  from 
the  curious  eyes  of  a  delicate  time  than  come  upon  the 
stage  of  the  world  with  any  manner  of  disparagement; 
this  mischance  of  sickness  having  cast  such  a  veil  over  her 
excellent  beauty  as  the  modesty  of  that  sex  doth  many 
times  upon  their  native  and  heroical  spirits."  Neither  Sir 
Henry  Sidney  nor  Lady  Mary  uttered  a  word  of  reproach 
against  their  royal  mistress.  It  was  Elizabeth's  good  fort- 
une to  be  devotedly  served  by  men  and  women  whom  she 
rewarded  with  ingratitude  or  niggardly  recognition.  And 
on  this  occasion  she  removed  Sir  Henry  from  his  dignity 
of  Lord  Deputy,  which  she  transferred  to  his  brother-in- 
law,  Sir  William  Fitz- William.  As  a  kind  of  recompense 
she  made  him  the  barren  offer  of  a  peerage.  The  distinc- 
tion was  great,  but  the  Sidneys  were  not  in  a  position  to 
accept  it.  A  letter,  addressed  by  Lady  Mary  to  Lord  Bur- 
leigh,  explains  the  difficulty  in  which  they  stood.  Her 
husband,  she  says,  is  "greatly  dismayed  with  his  hard 
choice,  which  is  presently  offered  him ;  as,  either  to  be  a 
baron,  now  called  in  the  number  of  many  far  more  able 
than  himself  to  maintain  it  withal,  or  else,  in  refusing  it, 
to  incur  her  Highness's  displeasure."  She  points  out  that 
the  title,  without  an  accompanying  grant  of  land,  would  be 
an  intolerable  burden.  Elizabeth  had  clearly  no  intention 
of  bestowing  estates  on  the  Sidney  family ;  and  Lady  Mary 


ii. J  FOREIGN  TRAVEL.  21 

was  forced  to  beg  the  secretary's  good  offices  for  mitigat- 
ing the  royal  anger  in  the  event  of  Sir  Henry's  refusal. 
Of  the  peerage  we  hear  no  more ;  and  it  is  probable  that 
Elizabeth  took  the  refusal  kindly.  She  had  paid  the  late 
Deputy  for  his  long  service  and  heavy  losses  by  a  compli- 
ment, his  non-acceptation  of  which  left  her  with  a  seat  in 
the  House  of  Lords  at  her  disposal. 

After  leaving  Oxford,  Philip  passed  some  months  at 
Ludlow  with  his  father,  who  continued  to  be  President  of 
Wales.  In  the  spring  of  1572  the  project  of  a  French 
match  was  taken  up  at  Court.  Mr.  Francis  Walsingham, 
the  resident  ambassador  at  Paris,  had  already  opened  ne- 
gotiations on  the  subject  in  the  previous  autumn ;  and  the 
execution  of  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  for  treasonable  practice 
with  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  now  rendered  Elizabeth's  mar- 
riage more  than  ever  politically  advisable.  It  was  to  be 
regretted  that  the  queen  should  meditate  union  with  the 
Duke  of  Alengon.  He  was  the  youngest  member  of  the 
worthless  family  of  Yalois,  a  Papist,  and  a  man  green  in 
years  enough  to  be  her  son.  Yet  at  this  epoch  it  seemed 
not  wholly  impossible  that  France  might  still  side  with 
the  Protestant  Powers.  Catherine  de'  Medici,  the  queen- 
mother,  had  favoured  the  Huguenot  party  for  some  years; 
and  Charles  IX.  was  scheming  the  marriage  of  his  sister 
Margaret  with  Henry  of  Navarre.  The  interests,  more- 
over, of  the  French  Crown  were  decidedly  opposed  to  those 
of  Spain.  The  Earl  of  Lincoln  was,  therefore,  nominated 
Ambassador  Extraordinary  to  sound  the  matter  of  his 
queen's  contract  with  a  prince  of  the  French  blood-royal. 
Sir  Henry  Sidney  seized  this  opportunity  for  sending 
Philip  on  the  grand  tour;  and  Elizabeth  granted  licence 
to  "  her  trusty  and  well-beloved  Philip  Sidney,  Esq.,  to  go 
out  of  England  into  parts  beyond  the  sea,  with  three  serv- 


22  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAE 

ants  and  four  horses,  etc.,  to  remain  the  space  of  two  years 
immediately  following  his  departure  out  of  the  realm,  for 
the  attaining  the  knowledge  of  foreign  languages."  On 
the  26th  of  May  the  expedition  left  London,  Philip  carry- 
ing a  letter  from  his  uncle  Leicester  to  Francis  Walsing- 
ham.  This  excellent  man,  who  was  destined  after  some 
years  to  become  his  father-in-law,  counted  among  the  best 
and  wisest  of  English  statesmen.  He  was  a  man  of  Sir 
Henry  Sidney's,  rather  than  of  Leicester's,  stamp ;  and  it 
is  recorded  of  him,  to  his  honour,  that,  after  a  life  spent  in 
public  service,  he  died  so  poor  that  his  funeral  had  to  be 
conducted  at  night. 

When  Lincoln  returned  to  England  with  advice  in  favour 
of  Alengon's  suit,  Philip  stayed  at  Paris.  The  summer  of 
1572  was  an  eventful  one  in  French  history.  Charles  IX. 
had  betrothed  his  sister,  Margaret  of  Valois,  to  Henry  of 
Navarre;  and  the  Capital  welcomed  Catholic  and  Hugue- 
not nobles,  the  flower  of  both  parties  which  divided  France, 
on  terms  of  external  courtesy  and  seeming  friendship. 
Fulke  Greville  tells,  us  that  the  king  of  Navarre  was  so  struck 
with  Philip's  excellent  disposition  that  he  admitted  him 
to  intimacy.  At  the  same  time  Charles  IX.,  who  had  been 
installed  Knight  of  the  Garter  on  the  same  day  as  Philip's 
father,  appointed  him  Gentleman  in  Ordinary  of  his  bed- 
chamber. The  patent  runs  as  follows :  "  That  considering 
how  great  the  house  of  Sidenay  was  in  England,  and  the 
rank  it  had  always  held  near  the  persons  of  the  kings  and 
queens,  their  sovereigns,  and  desiring  well  and  favourably 
to  treat  the  young  Sir  Philip  Sidenay  for  the  good  and 
commendable  knowledge  in  him,  he  had  retained  and  re- 
ceived him,"  etc.  On  the  9th  of  August  "  Baron  Sidenay," 
as  he  is  also  described  in  this  document,  took  the  oaths 
and  entered  on  his  new  office.  His  position  at  the  French 


n.]  FOREIGN  TRAVEL.  23 

Court  made  him  to  some  extent  an  actor  in  the  ceremonial 
of  Henry's  wedding,  which  took  place  upon  the  18th  of 
August.  It  will  be  remembered  that  Margaret  of  Navarre 
had  previously  been  pledged  to  the  Duke  of  Guise,  the  am- 
bitious leader  of  the  League,  the  sworn  enemy  to  Reform, 
and  the  almost  openly  avowed  aspirant  after  the  French 
Crown.  Before  the  altar  she  refused  to  speak  or  bend  her 
head,  when  asked  if  she  accepted  Henry  for  her  husband ; 
and  her  brother  had  to  take  her  by  the  neck  and  force  her 
into  an  attitude  of  assent.  Already,  then,  upon  the  nuptial 
morning,  ominous  clouds  began  to  gather  over  the  political 
horizon.  When  the  Duke  of  Guise  marched  his  armed 
bands  into  Paris,  the  situation  grew  hazardous  for  the  Hu- 
guenots. Then  followed  the  attack  upon  Coligny's  life, 
which  exploded  like  the  first  cannon  shot  that  preludes  a 
general  engagement.  Yet  the  vain  rejoicings  in  celebra- 
tion of  that  ill-omened  marriage  continued  for  some  days ; 
until,  when  all  was  ready,  on  the  24th  of  August,  Paris 
swam  with  the  blood  of  the  Huguenots.  Anarchy  and 
murder  spread  from  the  Capital  to  the  provinces ;  and  dur- 
ing the  seven  days  and  more  which  followed,  it  is  not  known 
how  many  thousands  of  Protestants  perished.  In  Rome 
Te  Deums  were  sung,  and  commemorative  medals  struck. 
In  England  the  Court  went  into  mourning.  The  French 
ambassador,  when  ordered  by  his  master  to  explain  the 
reasons  of  the  Massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew  to  Elizabeth, 
excused  himself  from  the  performance  of  this  duty.  His 
words  deserve  to  be  recorded :  "I  should  make  myself  an 
accomplice  in  that  terrible  business  were  I  to  attempt  to 
palliate."  The  same  man  has  also  left  a  vivid  account  of 
his  reception  at  Woodstock  when  the  news  arrived.  "  A 
gloomy  sorrow  sat  on  every  face.  Silence,  as  in  the  dead 
of  night,  reigned  through  all  the  chambers  of  the  royal 
29 


24  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

apartments.  The  ladies  and  courtiers  were  ranged  on  each 
side,  all  clad  in  deep  mourning ;  and  as  I  passed  them,  not 
one  bestowed  on  me  a  civil  look  or  made  the  least  return 
of  my  salutes." 

Philip  had  taken  refuge  at  the  English  embassy,  and  to 
this  circumstance  he  possibly  owed  his  life.  The  horrors 
of  St.  Bartholomew  must,  however,  have  made  a  terrible 
impression  on  his  mind ;  for  there  was  no  street  in  Paris 
which  did  not  resound  with  the  shrieks  of  the  assassinated, 
the  curses  of  their  butchers,  and  the  sharp  ring  of  musket- 
ry. He  knew  that  the  king,  intoxicated  with  a  sudden 
blood-thirst,  had  levelled  his  harquebus  from  that  window 
in  the  Louvre ;  he  knew  that  the  Duke  of  Guise  had  tram- 
pled with  his  heel  upon  Coligny's  naked  corpse.  It  can- 
not be  doubted  that  the  bold  and  firm  opposition  which 
Philip  subsequently  offered  to  Elizabeth's  French  schemes 
of  marriage  had  its  root  in  the  awful  experience  of  those 
days  of  carnage. 

Early  in  September  Lords  Leicester  and  Burleigh  de- 
spatched a  formal  letter  from  the  Privy  Council  to  Francis 
Walsingham,  requesting  him  to  provide  for  the  safety  of 
young  Lord  Wharton  and  Master  Philip  Sidney  by  procur- 
ing passports  in  due  form,  and  sending  them  immediately 
back  to  England.  It  seems,  however,  that  Sir  Henry  Sid- 
ney did  not  think  a  return  to  England  necessary  in  his  son's 
case.  Philip  left  Paris,  passed  through  Lorraine,  visited 
Strasburg,  stopped  at  Heidelberg,  and  came  thence  to  Frank- 
fort. 

It  would  be  interesting  to  know  what  social  and  political 
impressions  the  young  man,  now  in  his  eighteenth  year, 
carried  away  with  him  from  Paris.  Had  he  learned  the 
essential  baseness  and  phlegmatic  wickedness  of  the  Flor- 
entine queen-mother?  Had  he  discerned  that  the  king, 


ii. j  FOREIGN  TRAVEL.  25 

crazy,  misled,  and  delirious  in  his  freaks  and  impulses,  was 
yet  the  truest  man  of  all  his  miserable  breed?  Had  he 
taken  a  right  measure  of  the  Duke  of  Anjou — ghastly, 
womanish,  the  phantom  of  a  tyrant ;  oscillating  between 
Neronian  debauchery  and  hysterical  relapses  into  pietism? 
And  the  Duke  of  Alengon,  Elizabeth's  frog-faced  suitor, 
had  he  perceived  in  him  the  would-be  murderer  of  his  broth- 
er, the  poisonous  traitor,  whose  innate  malignancy  justified 
his  sister  Margaret  in  saying  that,  if  fraud  and  cruelty  were 
banished  from  the  world,  he  alone  would  suffice  to  repeople 
it  with  devils  ?  Probably  not ;  for  the  backward  eye  of 
the  historian  is  more  penetrative  into  the  realities  of  char- 
acter than  the  broad,  clear  gaze  of  a  hopeful  gentleman 
upon  his  travels.  We  sound  the  depths  revealed  to  us  by 
centuries  of  laborious  investigation.  He  only  beheld  the 
brilliant,  the  dramatic,  the  bewilderingly  fantastic  outside 
of  French  society,  as  this  was  displayed  in  nuptial  pomps 
and  tournaments  and  massacres  before  him.  Yet  he  ob- 
served enough  to  make  him  a  firmer  patriot,  a  more  deter- 
mined Protestant,  and  an  abhorrer  of  Italianated  Courts. 
At  Frankfort  he  found  a  friend,  who,  having  shared  the 
perils  of  St.  Bartholomew,  had  recently  escaped  across  the 
Rhine  to  Germany.  This  was  Hubert  Languet,  a  man 
whose  conversation  and  correspondence  exercised  no  small 
influence  over  the  formation  of  Sidney's  character. 

Languet  was  a  Frenchman,  born  in  1518  at  Yiteaux  in 
Burgundy.  He  studied  the  humanities  in  Italy,  and  was 
elected  Professor  of  Civil  Law  at  Padua  in  1547.  Two 
years  later  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  Melanchthon.  Their 
intercourse  ripened  into  friendship.  Languet  resigned  his 
professorship  in  order  to  be  near  the  man  whom  he  had 
chosen  for  his  teacher ;  and  under  Melanchthon's  influence 
he  adopted  the  reformed  religion.  From  1550  forwards 
2*  C 


26  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

he  was  recognised  as  one  of  the  leading  political  agents  of 
the  Protestant  Powers,  trusted  by  princes,  and  acquainted 
with  the  ablest  men  of  that  party  in  France,  Holland,  and 
the  German  States.  No  one  was  more  competent  to  guide 
Sidney  through  the  labyrinth  of  European  intrigues,  to  un- 
mask the  corruption  hidden  beneath  the  splendours  of  the 
Valois  Court,  and  to  instil  into  his  mind  those  principles 
of  conduct  which  governed  reformed  statesmen  in  those 
troubled  times.  They  were  both  staying,  as  was  then  the 
custom,  in  the  house  of  the  printer  Wechel  at  Frankfort. 
A  few  years  later,  Giordano  Bruno  also  sojourned  under 
that  hospitable  roof,  whence  he  departed  on  his  fatal  jour- 
ney to  Venice.  The  elder  man  immediately  discerned  in 
Sidney  a  youth  of  no  common  quality,  and  the  attachment 
he  conceived  for  him  savoured  of  romance.  We  possess  a 
long  series  of  Latin  letters  from  Languet  to  his  friend, 
which  breathe  the  tenderest  spirit  of  affection,  mingled  with 
wise  counsel  and  ever-watchful  thought  for  the  young  man's 
higher  interests.  It  was  indeed  one  of  Sidney's  singular 
felicities  that  he  fell  so  early  under  the  influence  of  char- 
acters like  Walsingham  and  Languet.  Together  with  his 
father,  they  helped  to  correct  the  bias  which  he  might  have 
taken  from  his  brilliant  but  untrustworthy  uncle  Leicester. 
There  must  have  been  something  inexplicably  attractive  in 
his  person  and  his  genius  at  this  time;  for  the  tone  of 
Languet's  correspondence  can  only  be  matched  by  that  of 
Shakespeare  in  the  sonnets  written  for  his  unknown  friend. 
Fulke  Greville  has  penned  a  beautiful  description  of 
"  this  harmony  of  an  humble  hearer  to  an  excellent  teacher," 
which  grew  up  between  Sidney  and  Languet  at  Frankfort ; 
but  he  is  mistaken  in  saying  that  the  latter -threw  up  all 
other  business  for  the  sake  of  attending  his  new-found 
friend  upon  his  three  years'  travel.  It  is  true  that  they 


ii.]  FOREIGN  TRAVEL.  27 

went  together  to  Vienna  in  the  summer  of  1573.  But 
Sidney  visited  Hungary  alone,  and  in  November  crossed 
the  Alps  without  Languet  to  Venice.  He  was  accom- 
panied by  a  gentleman  of  his  own  age  and  station,  not 
very  distantly  connected  with  him,  named  Thomas  Con- 
ingsby.  Two  of  his  attendants,  Griffin  Madox  and  Lewis 
Brysket,  are  also  known  to  us.  The  latter  writes  thus  of 
their  journey : 

"  Through  many  a  hill  and  dale, 
Through  pleasant  woods,  and  many  an  unknown  way, 
Along  the  banks  of  many  silver  streams 
Thou  with  him  yodest ;  and  with  him  didst  scale 
The  craggy  rocks  of  the  Alps  and  Apennine ; 
Still  with  the  muses  sporting." 

One  incident  of  the  tour  has  to  be  recorded  for  the  light  it 
throws  on  Sidney's  character.  An  innkeeper  contrived  to 
get  his  bill  twice  paid ;  and  Sidney  finding  himself  out  of 
pocket,  charged  Coningsby  with  having  made  away  with 
the  money.  In  a  letter  to  Languet  he  cleared  the  matter 
up,  and  exculpated  his  travelling  companion.  But  the  in- 
cident was  not  greatly  to  his  credit.  With  all  his  gravity 
and  suavity  of  nature,  he  was  apt  to  yield  to  temper  and  to 
unamiable  suspicion.  I  shall  have  to  revert  to  this  point 
again. 

Since  Sidney  is  now  launched,  without  guide  or  tutor, 
upon  his  Italian  travels,  it  will  not  be  out  of  place  to  col- 
lect some  contemporary  opinions  regarding  the  benefit  to 
be  derived  by  Englishmen  from  Italy.  In  a  fine  passage 
of  "The  Schoolmaster"  Ascharn  relates  a  conversation 
which  he  had  at  Windsor  with  Sir  Richard  Sackville  on 
this  subject.  His  judgment  was  that  young  men  lost  far 
more  than  they  gained  by  an  Italian  tour.  Too  many  of 


28  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

them  returned  Papists,  or  Atheists,  experienced  in  new- 
fangled vices,  apt  for  treason,  lying,  and  every  form  of 
swinish  debauchery.  Taking  for  his  text  the  well-known 
proverb,  "  Inglese  italianato  e  un  diavolo  incarnato" — 
which  Sidney,  by  the  way,  has  translated  thus : 

"  An  Englishman  that  is  Italianate, 
Doth  lightly  prove  a  devil  incarnate," — 

Ascham  preaches  an  eloquent  sermon,  with  allegories  from 
Plato  and  Homer,  to  prove  that  Italy  is  but  a  garden  of 
Circe  or  an  isle  of  sirens  to  our  northern  youth.  Parker, 
Howell,  Fuller,  Hall,  Gabriel  Harvey,  Marston,  Greene,  all 
utter  the  same  note,  and  use  the  same  admonishments, 
proving  how  very  dangerous  an  Italian  tour  was  reckoned 
in  those  days.  Sidney,  in  a  remarkable  letter  to  Languet, 
insists  upon  the  point.  He  says  he  wishes  the  Turks  could 
come  to  Italy  in  order  to  find  corruption  there :  "  I  am 
quite  sure  that  this  ruinous  Italy  would  so  poison  the  Turks 
themselves,  would  so  ensnare  them  in  its  vile  allurements, 
that  they  would  soon  tumble  down  without  being  pushed." 
Venice,  in  particular,  had  an  evil  reputation.  There,  as 
Ascham  says,  he  saw  in  nine  days'  sojourn  "  more  liberty 
to  sin  than  ever  I  heard  tell  of  in  our  noble  city  of  London 
in  nine  years."  He  admits,  however,  that  while  he  knows 
of  many  who  "  returned  out  of  Italy  worse  transformed 
than  ever  was  any  in  Circe's  court,"  yet  is  he  acquainted 
with  "  divers  noble  personages  and  many  worthy  gentle- 
men of  England,  whom  all  the  siren  songs  of  Italy  could 
never  untwine  from  the  mast  of  God's  word,  nor  no  en- 
chantment of  vanity  overturn  them  from  the  fear  of  God 
and  love  of  honesty."  To  the  former  class  belonged  the 
Earl  of  Oxford.  Of  the  latter  Philip  Sidney  was  an  emi- 


n.]  FOREIGN  TRAVEL.  29 

nent  example.  Like  the  bee  which  sucks  honey  from 
poisonous  flowers,  he  gained  only  good  from  the  travels 
which  were  so  pernicious  to  his  fellow-countrymen  at 
large. 

His  correspondence  with  Languet  was  doubtless  useful 
to  him,  while  residing  at  Venice  and  Padua.  From  it  we 
learn  something  about  his  studies,  which  seem  at  this  time 
to  have  been  chiefly  in  philosophy  and  science.  Languet 
urges  him  not  to  overwork  himself;  and  he  replies:  "I 
am  never  so  little  troubled  with  melancholy  as  when  my 
mind  is  employed  about  something  particularly  difficult." 
Languet  on  another  occasion  dissuades  him  from  geometry : 
"  You  have  too  little  mirthfulness  in  your  nature,  and  this  is 
a  study  which  will  make  you  still  more  grave."  He  recom- 
mends him  to  devote  his  time  to  such  things  as  befit  a 
man  of  high  rank  in  life,  and  to  prepare  himself  for  the 
duties  of  a  statesman  rather  than  for  the  leisure  of  a  liter- 
ary man.  Sidney  begs  for  a  copy  of  Plutarch  in  Amyot's 
translation,  says  he  is  "  learning  astronomy  and  getting  a 
knowledge  of  music,"  and  is  anxious  to  read  the  Politics 
of  Aristotle.  Meanwhile  he  frequented  the  sumptuous 
houses  of  the  Venetian  nobles :  "  Yet  I  would  rather  have 
one  pleasant  chat  with  you,  my  dear  Languet,  than  enjoy 
all  the  magnificent  magnificences  of  these  magnificoes." 
He  seems  indeed  to  have  been  a  grave  youth.  WEo  his 
intimate  friends  were,  we  do  not  know.  Sarpi  was  away 
at  Mantua;  so  it  is  not  likely  that  he  made  his  acquaint- 
ance. We  hear,  however,  much  of  the  young  Count  Philip 
Lewis  of  Hannau. 

At  Venice  Sidney  sat  for  his  portrait  to  Paolo  Vero- 
nese, and  sent  the  picture  afterwards  to  Languet.  What 
has  become  of  this  painting  is  not  known.  Possibly  it  still 
lies  buried  in  some  German  collection.  Of  all  the  por- 


30  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

traits  which  are  supposed  to  represent  Sidney,  the  best  to 
my  mind  is  one  now  preserved  at  Warwick  Castle.  It  is 
said  to  have  belonged  to  Fulke  Greville,  and  therefore  we 
may  trust  its  resemblance  to  the  original.  John  Aubrey, 
the  useful  anecdote-monger,  tells  us  that  he  was  "  extreme- 
ly beautiful.  He  much  resembled  his  sister;  but  his  hair 
was  not  red,  but  a  little  inclining,  namely  a  dark  amber 
colour.  If  I  were  to  find  a  fault  in  it,  methinks  'tis  not 
masculine  enough ;  yet  he  was  a  person  of  great  courage." 
The  Warwick  Castle  portrait  answers  very  closely  to  this 
description,  especially  in  a  certain  almost  girlish  delicacy 
of  feature  and  complexion.  That  Sidney  was  indeed  beau- 
tiful may  be  taken  for  granted,  since  there  is  considerable 
concurrence  of  testimony  on  this  point.  The  only  dissen- 
tient I  can  call  to  mind  is  Ben  Jonson,  who  reported  that 
he  "  was  no  pleasant  man  in  countenance,  his  face  being 
spoiled  with  pimples,  and  of  high  blood,  and  long."  But 
Jonson  was  only  thirteen  years  of  age  when  Sidney  died, 
and  the  conversations  with  Drummond,  from  which  this 
sentence  was  quoted,  abound  in  somewhat  random  state- 
ments. 

It  was  natural  that  a  Telemachus  of  Sidney's  stamp  should 
wish  to  visit  Rome  before  he  turned  his  face  northwards. 
But  his  Huguenot  Mentor,  and  perhaps  also  his  friends  at 
home,  so  urgently  dissuaded  him  from  exposing  his  imma- 
turity to  the  blandishments  of  the  Catholic  Calypso,  that 
he  prudently  refrained.  After  a  short  excursion  to  Genoa, 
he  returned  to  Venice,  crossed  the  Alps,  and  was  again 
with  Languet  at  Vienna  in  July.  Here  the  grave  youth, 
who  had  set  his  heart  on  becoming  perfect  in  all  gentle  ac- 
complishments, divided  his  time  between  discourse  on  poli- 
tics and  literature,  courtly  pleasures,  and  equestrian  exer- 
cises. In  the  Defence  of  Poesy  he  has  given  us  an  agreeable 


ii.]  FOREIGN  TRAVEL.  31 

picture  of  his  Italian  master  in  horsemanship,  the  gascon- 
ading Pugliano. 

The  winter  of  1574-75  passed  away  at  Vienna.  In  the 
spring  he  attended  the  Emperor  Maximilian  to  Prague, 
where  he  witnessed  the  opening  of  the  Bohemian  Diet. 
Thence  he  moved  homewards  through  Dresden,  Heidel- 
berg, Strasburg,  and  Frankfort,  reaching  London  in  June. 
During  his  absence  one  of  his  two  sisters,  Ambrozia,  had 
died  at  Ludlow  Castle.  The  queen  took  the  other,  Mary, 
under  special  protection,  and  attached  her  to  her  person. 
A  new  chapter  was  now  opened  in  the  young  man's  life. 
His  education  being  finished,  he  entered  upon  the  life  of 
Courts. 


CHAPTER  III. 

ENTRANCE    INTO    COURT-LIFE    AND    EMBASSY. 

SIDNEY'S  prospects  as  a  courtier  were  excellent.  His 
powerful  uncle  Leicester,  now  at  the  height  of  royal  favor, 
displayed  marked  partiality  for  the  handsome  youth,  who 
was  not  unnaturally  regarded  by  the  world  as  his  pre- 
sumptive heir.  In  July  1575  Philip  shared  those  famous 
festivities  with  which  the  earl  entertained  Elizabeth  at 
Kenilworth;  and  when  the  Court  resumed  its  progress,  he 
attended  her  Majesty  to  Chartley  Castle.  This  was  the 
seat  of  the  Earl  of  Essex,  who  was  then  in  Ireland.  The 
countess,  in  his  absence,  received  her  royal  guest ;  and  here 
Sidney,  for  the  first  time,  met  the  girl  with  whom  his  fort- 
unes and  his  fame  were  destined  to  be  blended.  Lady 
Penelope  Devereux,  illustrious  in  English  literature  as  Sir 
Philip  Sidney's  Stella,  was  now  in  her  thirteenth  year; 
and  it  is  not  likely  that  at  this  time  she  made  any  strong 
impression  on  his  fancy.  Yet  we  find  that  soon  after  the 
return  of  Essex  from  Ireland  in  the  autumn  of  1575,  he 
had  become  intimate  with  the  earl's  family.  At  Durham 
House,  their  London  residence,  he  passed  long  hours  dur- 
ing the  following  winter ;  and  when  Essex  went  again  to 
Ireland  as  Earl-Marshal  in  July  1576,  Philip  accompanied 
him.  It  should  here  be  said  that  Sir  Henry  Sidney  had 
been  nominated  for  the  third  time  Lord  Deputy  in  August 


CH.  in.]    ENTRANCE  INTO  COURT-LIFE  AND  EMBASSY.     33 

1575.  Philip's  visit  was  therefore  paid  to  his  father;  but 
he  made  it  in  company  with  the  man  whom  he  had  now 
come  to  regard  as  his  future  father-in-law.  There  is  little 
doubt  that  had  Lord  Essex  lived,  the  match  would  have 
been  completed.  But  the  Earl-Marshal  died  at  Dublin  on 
the  21st  of  September,  after  a  painful  illness,  which  raised 
some  apparently  ill-founded  suspicions  of  poison.  Philip 
was  in  Galway  with  his  father,  and  Essex  sent  him  this 
message  on  his  deathbed :  "  Tell  him  I  sent  him  nothing, 
but  I  wish  him  well ;  so  well  that,  if  God  do  move  their 
hearts,  I  wish  that  he  might  match  with  my  daughter.  I 
call  him  son ;  he  is  so  wise,  virtuous,  and  godly.  If  he 
go  on  in  the  course  he  hath  begun,  he  will  be  as  famous 
and  worthy  a  gentleman  as  ever  England  bred."  These 
words  are  sufficient  to  prove  that  Philip's  marriage  with 
Penelope  was  contemplated  by  her  father.  That  the 
world  expected  it  appears  from  a  letter  of  Mr.  Edward 
Waterhouse  to  Sir  Henry  Sidney  under  date  14th  Novem- 
ber. After  first  touching  upon  the  bright  prospects  opened 
for  "  the  little  Earl  of  Essex,"  this  gentleman  proceeds : 
"  and  I  suppose  all  the  best  sort  of  the  English  lords,  be- 
sides, do  expect  what  will  become  of  the  treaty  between 
Mr.  Philip  and  my  Lady  Penelope.  Truly,  my  Lord,  I 
must  say  to  your  Lordship,  as  I  have  said  to  my  Lord  of 
Leicester  and  Mr.  Philip,  the  breaking  off  from  their 
match,  if  the  default  be  on  your  parts,  will  turn  to  more 
dishonour  than  can  be  repaired  with  any  other  marriage  in 
England." 

What  interrupted  the  execution  of  this  marriage  treaty 
is  not  certain.  Penelope's  mother,  the  widowed  Lady 
Essex,  was  privately  wedded  to  the  Earl  of  Leicester  soon 
after  her  first  husband's  death.  The  Sidneys  were  poor. 
Lady  Mary  Sidney  writes  to  Lord  Burleigh  about  this 


34  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  \VHAP. 

time:  "My  present  estate  is  such  by  reason  of  my  debts, 
as  I  cannot  go  forward  with  any  honourable  course  of  liv- 
ing." It  is  remarkable  that,  so  far  as  we  know,  she  placed 
bnt  little  confidence  in  her  brother  Leicester,  preferring  to 
appeal  in  difficulties  to  a  friend  like  Cecil.  Philip  was 
often  at  a  loss  to  pay  his  debts.  We  possess,  for  instance, 
the  copy  of  a  long  bill  from  his  bootmaker  which  he  re- 
quests his  father's  steward  to  discharge  "  for  the  safeguard 
of  his  credit."  Thus  Leicester's  marriage,  which  seriously 
impaired  Philip's  prospects,  Lady  Mary's  want  of  cordiality 
toward  her  brother,  and  the  poverty  of  the  Sidneys,  may 
be  reckoned  among  the  causes  which  postponed  Penelope's 
betrothal.  It  should  also  here  be  noticed  that  Sir  Henry 
Sidney  entertained  a  grudge  against  the  Earl  of  Essex. 
Writing  to  Lord  Leicester,  he  couples  Essex  with  his  old 
enemy  the  Earl  of  Ormond,  adding  that  "for  that  their 
malice,  I  take  God  to  record,  I  could  brook  nothing  of 
them  both."  We  may  therefore  conclude  that  Philip's 
father  was  unfavourable  to  the  match.  But  the  chief 
cause  remains  to  be  mentioned.  Up  to  this  time  the  pro- 
posed bridegroom  felt  no  lover's  liking  for  the  lady. 
Languet  frequently  wrote,  urging  him  to  marry,  and  using 
arguments  similar  to  those  which  Shakespeare  pressed  on 
his  "  fair  friend."  Philip's  answers  show  that,  unless  he 
was  a  deep  dissembler,  he  remained  heart-free.  So  time 
slipped  by.  Perhaps  he  thought  that  he  might  always 
pluck  the  rose  by  only  asking  for  it.  At  any  rate,  he  dis- 
played no  eagerness,  until  one  morning  the  news  reached 
him  that  his  Penelope  was  contracted  to  a  man  unworthy 
of  her,  Lord  Rich.  Then  suddenly  the  flame  of  passion, 
which  had  smouldered  so  obscurely  as  to  be  unrecognised 
by  his  own  heart,  burst  out  into  a  blaze;  and  what  was 
worse,  he  discovered  that  Penelope  too  loved  him.  In  the 


in.]       ENTRANCE  INTO  COURT-LIFE  AND  EMBASSY.         35 

chapter  devoted  to  Sidney's  poetry  I  shall  return  to  this 
subject.  So  much,  however,  had  to  be  said  here,  in  order 
to  present  a  right  conception  of  his  character.  For  at 
least  four  years,  between  the  death  of  Essex,  in  September 
1576,  and  Penelope's  marriage,  which  we  may  place  in  the 
spring  or  summer  of  1581,  he  was  aware  that  her  father 
with  his  last  breath  had  blessed  their  union.  Yet  he  never 
moved  a  step  or  showed  any  eagerness  until  it  was  too 
late.  It  seems  that  this  grave  youth,  poet  as  he  was,  pas- 
sionate lover  as  he  undoubtedly  became,  and  hasty  as  he 
occasionally  showed  himself  in  trifles,  had  a  somewhat 
politic  and  sluggish  temperament.  Fulke  Greville  recorded 
that  he  never  was  a  boy ;  Languet  could  chide  him  for 
being  sad  beyond  his  years ;  he  wrote  himself,  amid  the 
distractions  of  Venetian  society,  that  he  required  hard 
studies  to  drive  away  melancholy.  Moreover,  he  indulged 
dreams  of  high  and  noble  ambition.  Self  -  culture,  the 
preparation  of  his  whole  nature  for  some  great  task  in  life, 
occupied  his  thoughts  to  the  exclusion  of  a  woman's  image. 
This  saved  him  from  the  faults  and  follies  of  his  age ;  but 
it  rendered  him  cold,  until  the  poet's  fire  leaped  up  and 
kindled  a  slumbering  emotion. 

Not  love,  but  the  ambition  of  a  statesman,  then  was 
Sidney's  ruling  passion  at  this  time.  He  had  no  mind  to 
"  sport  with  Amaryllis  in  the  shade,"  or  even  to  "  meditate 
the  thankless  Muse,"  when  work  could  be  done  for  Eng- 
land and  the  affairs  of  Europe  called  for  energetic  action. 
In  the  spring  of  1577  Elizabeth  selected  him  for  a  mission, 
which  flattered  these  aspirations.  Rodolph  of  Hapsburg 
had  just  succeeded  to  the  imperial  throne,  and  the  Elector 
Palatine  had  died,  leaving  two  sons,  Lewis  and  John 
Casimir.  She  sent  Philip  to  congratulate  the  emperor 
and  to  condole  with  the  bereaved  princes.  He  stipulated 


36  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

that,  after  performing  the  ceremonial  part  of  this  embassy, 
he  should  be  permitted  to  confer  with  the  German  Powers 
upon  the  best  means  of  maintaining  reformed  principles 
and  upholding  political  liberties.  Instructions  were  ac- 
cordingly drawn  up  which  empowered  the  youthful  envoy 
to  touch  upon  these  points.  At  the  end  of  February  he 
set  out  upon  his  travels,  attended  by  Fulke  Greville  and  by 
a  train  of  gentlefolk.  In  the  houses  where  he  lodged  he 
caused  tablets  to  be  fixed,  emblazoned  with  his  arms,  under 
which  ran  a  Latin  inscription  to  this  effect :  "  Of  the  most 
illustrious  and  well-born  English  gentleman,  Philip  Sidney, 
son  of  the  Viceroy  of  Ireland,  nephew  of  the  Earls  of 
Warwick  and  Leicester,  Ambassador  from  the  most  Serene 
Queen  of  England  to  the  Emperor."  This  ostentation  was 
not  out  of  harmony  with  the  pompous  habits  of  that  age. 
Yet  we  may  perhaps  discern  in  it  Sidney's  incapacity  to 
treat  his  own  affairs  with  lightness.  He  took  himself  and 
all  that  concerned  him  an  serieux ;  but  it  must  also  be  ob- 
served that  he  contrived  to  make  others  accept  him  in  like 
manner.  As  Jonson  puts  it,  when  comparing  himself, 
under  the  name  of  Horace,  with  men  of  less  sterling  merit : 

"  If  they  should  confidently  praise  their  works, 
In  them  it  would  appear  inflation ; 
Which,  in  a  full  and  well-digested  man, 
Cannot  receive  that  foul,  abusive  name, 
But  the  fair  title  of  erection." 

He  first  proceeded  to  Heidelberg,  where  he  failed  to  find 
the  Elector  Lewis,  but  made  acquaintance  with  the  younger 
prince,  his  brother  Casimir.  The  palatinate,  like  many  of 
the  petty  German  states,  was  torn  by  religious  factions. 
The  last  elector  had  encouraged  Calvinism ;  but  his  son 
Lewis  was  now  introducing  Lutheran  ministers  into  his  do- 


HI.]       ENTRANCE  INTO  COURT-LIFE  AND  EMBASSY.         37 

minions.  The  Calvinists,  after  enduring  considerable  hard- 
ships, had  to  emigrate ;  and  many  of  them  took  refuge 
with  Prince  Casirnir.  It  seems  that  before  he  reached 
Heidelberg,  Sidney  had  been  met  by  Hubert  Languet ;  and 
this  good  counseller  attended  him  through  all  his  German 
wanderings.  They  went  together  to  Prague,  where  the 
new  emperor  was  holding  his  Court.  Here,  even  more 
than  at  Heidelberg,  the  English  Envoy  found  matter  for 
serious  disquietude.  Rodolph  had  grown  up  under  Catho- 
lic influences,  and  the  Jesuits  were  gaining  firm  hold  upon 
his  capital.  Students  of  history  will  remember  that  a  Jes- 
uit Father  had  negotiated  the  participation  of  the  Emperor 
Ferdinand  in  the  closing  of  the  Tridentine  Council.  Aus- 
tria, under  his  grandson  Rodolph's  rule,  bid  fair  to  become 
one  of  their  advanced  posts  in  northern  Europe.  Sidney 
meant,  so  far  as  in  him  lay,  to  shake  the  prestige  of  this 
"extremely  Spaniolated"  and  priestridden  emperor.  It 
was  his  intention  to  harangue  in  Germany  against  the 
"fatal  conjunction  of  Rome's  undermining  superstition 
with  the  commanding  forces  of  Spain."  Fulke  Greville 
has  sketched  the  main  line  of  his  argument ;  but  it  is  hard- 
ly probable  that  he  bearded  the  lion  in  his  den  and  spoke 
his  mind  out  before  the  imperial  presence.  The  substance 
of  the  policy  he  strove  to  impress  upon  those  German 
princes  who  took  the  Protestant  side,  and  upon  all  well- 
wishers  to  the  people,  was  that  the  whole  strength  of  their 
great  nation  could  not  save  them  from  the  subtle  poison 
which  Sarpi  styled  the  Diacatholicon,  unless  they  made  a 
vigorous  effort  of  resistance.  Rome,  by  her  insidious  arts 
and  undermining  engines — by  her  Jesuits  and  casuistical 
sophistications — sapped  the  social  fabric  and  dissolved  the 
ancestral  loyalties  of  races.  Into  the  dismembered  and 
disintegrated  mass  marched  Spain  with  her  might  of  arms, 


38  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

her  money,  her  treaties,  marriages,  and  encouragement  of 
sedition.  In  short,  Sidney  uttered  a  prophecy  of  what 
happened  in  the  Thirty  Years'  War,  that  triumph  of  Jesu- 
itical diplomacy.  As  a  remedy  he  proposed  that  all  the 
German  Powers  who  valued  national  independence,  and 
had  a  just  dread  of  Spanish  encroachment,  should  "asso- 
ciate by  an  uniform  bond  of  conscience  for  the  protection 
of  religion  and  liberty."  In  other  words,  he  espoused  the 
policy  of  what  was  known  as  the  Fcedus  Evangelicum. 

Theoretically,  this  plan  was  not  only  excellent,  but  also 
necessary  for  stemming  the  advance  of  those  reactionary 
forces,  knit  together  by  bonds  of  common  interest  and 
common  enthusiasm,  which  governed  the  Counter  Refor- 
mation. But  unfortunately  it  rested  upon  no  solid  basis 
of  practical  possibilities.  A  Protestant  Alliance,  formed  to 
secure  the  political  and  religious  objects  of  the  Reforma- 
tion in  its  warfare  with  Catholicism,  had  been  the  cherish- 
ed scheme  of  northern  statesmen  since  the  days  of  Henry 
VIII.  The  principles  of  evangelical  piety,  of  national  free- 
dom, of  progressive  thought,  and  of  Teutonic  emancipation 
upon  regulated  methods,  might  perhaps  have  been  estab- 
lished, if  the  Church  of  England  could  have  combined  with 
the  Lutherans  of  Germany,  the  Calvinists  of  Geneva,  and  of 
France,  Sweden,  and  the  Low  Countries,  in  a  solid  confed- 
eration for  the  defence  of  civil  and  religious  liberty.  But 
from  the  outset,  putting  national  jealousies  and  diplomatic 
difficulties  aside,  there  existed  in  the  very  spirit  of  Protest- 
antism a  power  antagonistic  to  cohesion.  Protestantism 
had  its  root  in  critical  and  sceptical  revolt.  From  the  first 
it  assumed  forms  of  bewildering  diversity  on  points  of  doc- 
trine. Each  of  its  sects  passed  at  an  early  stage  into  dog- 
matism, hardly  less  stubborn  than  that  of  the  Catholic 
Church.  It  afforded  no  common  or  firm  groundwork  for 


in.]      ENTRANCE  INTO  COURT-LIFE  AND  EMBASSY.         39 

alliance.  Lutherans,  Zvvinglians,  Anglicans,  Anabaptists, 
Hussites,  Calvinists,  Sacramentarians,  Puritans,  could  not 
work  together  for  a  single  end.  It  has  always  been  thus 
with  the  party  of  progress,  the  Liberals  of  world-transform- 
ing moments  in  the  march  of  thought.  United  by  no 
sanctioned  Credo,  no  fixed  Corpus  Fidei,  no  community  of 
Conservative  tradition ;  owing  no  allegiance  to  a  spiritual 
monarch;  depending  for  their  being  on  rebellion  against 
authority  and  discipline;  disputing  the  fundamental  prop- 
ositions from  which  organisation  has  hitherto  been  ex- 
panded,— they  cannot  act  in  concert.  These  men  are  in- 
novators, scene-shifters,  to  whom  the  new  scene,  as  in  the 
plan  of  God  it  will  appear,  is  still  invisible.  They  are 
movers  from  a  fixed  point  to  a  point  yet  unascertained. 
Each  section  into  which  they  crystallise,  and  where  as  sects 
they  sterilise,  conceives  the  coming  order  according  to  its 
narrow  prejudices.  Each  sails  toward  the  haven  of  the 
future  by  its  own  ill-balanced  compass,  and  observes  self- 
chosen  stars.  The  very  instinct  for  change,  the  very  ap- 
prehension which  sets  so-called  Reformers  in  motion,  im- 
plies individualities  of  opinion  and  incompatibilities  of 
will.  Therefore  they  are  collectively  weak  when  ranged 
against  the  ranks  of  orthodoxy  and  established  discipline. 
It  is  only  because  the  life  of  the  world  beats  in  their  hearts 
and  brains,  because  the  onward  faces  of  humanity  are  with 
them,  that  they  command  our  admiration.  The  victory  of 
liberalism  in  modern  Europe  was  won  at  the  cost  of  retro- 
grade movements — such  as  the  extinction  of  free  thought 
in  Italy  and  Spain,  the  crushing  of  the  Huguenots  in 
France,  the  bloody  persecution  of  the  Netherlands,  the 
Thirty  Years'  War,  and  the  ossification  of  the  Reformed 
Churches  into  inorganic  stupidity.  And  the  fruits  of  the 

victory  fall  not  to  any  sect  of  Protestantism,  but  to  a  new 
'  30 


40  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY. 

spirit  which  arose  in  Science  and  the  Revolution.  To  ex- 
pect, therefore,  as  Sidney  and  the  men  with  whom  he  sym- 
pathised expected,  that  a  Protestant  League  could  be  form- 
ed, capable  of  hurling  back  the  tide  of  Catholic  reaction, 
was  little  short  of  the  indulgence  of  a  golden  dream.  Facts 
and  the  essence  of  the  Reformation  were  against  its  possi- 
bility. As  a  motive  force  in  the  world,  Protestantism  was 
already  well-nigh  exhausted.  Its  energy  had  already  pass- 
ed into  new  forms.  The  men  of  the  future  were  now  rep- 
resented by  philosophers  like  Bruno  and  Bacon,  by  naviga- 
tors of  the  world  like  Drake,  by  explorers  of  the  heavens 
like  Galileo,  by  anatomists  and  physicists  like  Vesalius, 
Servetus,  Sarpi,  Harvey. 

Whatever  Sidney's  hopes  and  dreams  may  have  been,  the 
religious  discords  of  Germany,  torn  asunder  by  Protestant 
sectarians  and  worm-eaten  to  the  core  by  Jesuitical  propa- 
gandists, must  have  rudely  disilluded  him.  And  no  one 
was  better  fitted  than  Languet  to  dissect  before  his  eyes 
the  humours  and  imposthumes  of  that  unwieldy  body  pol- 
itic. They  left  Prague  at  the  end  of  April,  travelled  togeth- 
er to  Heidelberg,  visited  the  Landgrave  of  Hesse,  and  ar- 
rived at  Cologne  in  May.  Here  Sidney  thought  that  he 
must  turn  his  face  immediately  homewards,  though  he  great- 
ly wished  to  pass  into  Flanders.  Languet  dissuaded  him, 
on  grounds  of  prudence,  from  doing  so  without  direct  com- 
mission from  the  queen.  Great  therefore  was  the  satisfac- 
tion of  both  when  letters  arrived  from  England,  ordering 
Sidney  to  compliment  William  the  Silent,  Prince  of  Orange, 
on  the  birth  of  his  son.  During  this  visit  to  the  Nether- 
lands he  made  acquaintance  with  the  two  most  distinguished 
men  therer  and  won  the  respect  of  both.  Don  John  of 
Austria,  the  victor  of  Lepanto,  was  then  acting  as  viceroy 
to  the  King  of  Spain.  Sidney  paid  him  his  respects,  and 


in.]      ENTRANCE  INTO  COURT-LIFE  AND  EMBASSY.         41 

this  is  the  account  Fulke  Greville  gives   of   his   recep- 
tion : — 

"  Though  at  the  first,  in  his  Spanish  haughture,  he  (Don  John) 
gave  him  access  as  by  descent  to  a  youth,  of  grace  as  to  a  stranger, 
and  in  particular  competition,  as  he  conceived,  to  an  enemy ;  yet  after 
a  while  that  he  had  taken  his  just  altitude,  he  found  himself  so 
stricken  with  this  extraordinary  planet  that  the  beholders  wondered 
to  see  what  ingenuous  tribute  that  brave  and  high-minded  prince 
paid  to  his  worth,  giving  more  honour  and  respect  to  this  hopeful 
young  gentleman  than  to  the  ambassadors  of  mighty  princes." 

What  happened  at  Sidney's  interview  with  William  of 
Orange  is  not  told  us.  That  he  made  a  strong  impression 
on  the  stadtholder  appears  from  words  spoken  to  Fulke 
Greville  after  some  years.  Greville  had  been  sent  as  am- 
bassador to  the  prince  at  Delft.  Among  other  things  Will- 
iam bade  him  report  to  Queen  Elizabeth  his  opinion  "  that 
her  Majesty  had  one  of  the  ripest  and  greatest  counsellors 
of  estate  in  Sir  Philip  Sidney  that  at  this  day  lived  in 
Europe ;  to  the  trial  of  which  he  was  pleased  to  leave  his 
own  credit  engaged  until  her  Majesty  might  please  to  em- 
ploy this  gentleman  either  amongst  her  friends  or  enemies." 
Sidney's  caution  prevented  his  friend  from  delivering  this 
message  to  a  sovereign  notoriously  jealous  of  foreign  inter- 
ference in  her  home  affairs. 

Philip  was  in  London  again  in  June,  when  he  presented 
his  respects  to  her  Majesty  at  Greenwich.  That  he  had 
won  credit  by  the  discharge  of  his  embassy  appears  from 
a  letter  written  by  Mr.  Secretary  Walsingham  to  Sir  Henry 
Sidney  soon  after  his  arrival.  "  There  hath  not  been  any 
gentleman,  I  am  sure,  these  many  years  that  hath  gone 
through  so  honourable  a  charge  with  as  great  commenda- 
tions as  he :  in  consideration  whereof  I  could  not  but  com- 
municate this  part  of  my  joy  with  your  Lordship,  being  no 


42  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

less  a  refreshing  unto  me  in  these  my  troublesome  businesses 
than  the  soil  is  to  the  chafed  stag."  Henceforth  we  may 
regard  our  hero  as  a  courtier  high  in  favour  with  the  queen, 
esteemed  for  his  solid  parts  by  the  foremost  statesmen  of 
the  realm,  in  correspondence  with  the  leaders  of  the  Re- 
formed party  on  the  Continent,  and  surely  marked  out  for 
some  employment  of  importance.  He  had  long  to  wait, 
however,  before  that  craving  for  action  in  the  great  world 
which  we  have  already  indicated  as  his  leading  passion, 
could  even  in  part  be  gratified.  Meanwhile  it  was  his  duty 
to  hang  about  the  Court ;  and  how  irksome  lie  fo.und-.that 
petty  sphere  of  compliments,  intrigues,  and  gallantries,  can 
be  Tead  in  the  impatient  letters  he  addressed  to  Languet. 
Their  correspondence  was  pretty  regularly  maintained,  al- 
though the  old  man  sometimes  grumbled  at  his  young 
friend's  want  of  attention.  "  Weigh  well,  I  beseech  yon, 
what  it  is  to  grudge  through  so  long  a  space  of  time  one 
single  hour  to  friends  who  love  you  so  dearly,  and  who  are 
more  anxious  for  you  than  for  themselves.  By  omitting 
one  dance  a  month  you  could  have  abundantly  satisfied 
us."  In  this  strain  Languet  writes  occasionally.  Bat  his 
frequent  reference  to  Philip's  "  sweetest  letters,"  and  the 
familiarity  he  always  displays  with  his  private  affairs,  show 
that  the  young  courtier  was  a  tolerably  regular  correspond- 
ent. It  is  difficult  for  elderly  folk,  when  they  have  con- 
ceived ardent  affection  for  their  juniors,  to  remember  how 
very  much  more  space  the  young  occupy  in  the  thoughts 
of  the  old  than  the  old  can  hope  to  command  in  youthful 
brains  distracted  by  the  multifarious  traffic  of  society. 
Languet  had  little  to  do  but  to  ply  his  pen  in  his  study. 

[Sidney  had  to  follow  the  queen  on  progress,  trifle  with  her 
ladies,  join  in  games  of  skill  and  knightly  exercises  with  the 
gentlemen  about  the  Court.  Yet  it  is  certain  that  this  life 


in.]       ENTRANCE  INTO  COURT-LIFE  AND  EMBASSY.         43 


wearied  him.  He  was  for  ever  seeking  to  escape  ;  at  one 
time  planning  to  join  Prince  Casimir  in  the  Low  Countries  ; 
at  another  to  take  part  in  Frobisher's  expedition  ;  and  more 
than  once  contemplating  "  some  Indian  project."  Languet 
did  his  best  to  curb  these  wandering  ambitions.  He  had 
conceived  a  very  firm  opinion  that  Sidney  was  born  to  be 
a  statesman,  not  a  soldier  of  fortune,  not  an  explorer  of  the 
ocean.  At  the  same  time,  he  greatly  dreaded  lest  his  friend 
should  succumb  to  the  allurements  of  fashionable  idleness. 
"  My  noble  Sidney,  you  must  avoid  that  persistent  siren, 
sloth."  "  Think  not  that  God  endowed  you  with  parts  so 
excellent  to  the  end  that  you  should  let  them  rot  in  leisure. 
Bather  hold  firmly  that  He  requires  more  from  you  than 
from  those  to  whom  He  has  been  less  liberal  of  talents." 
"  There  is  no  reason  to  fear  lest  you  should  decay  in  idle- 
ness if  only  you  will  employ  your  mind  ;  for  in  so  great  a 
realm  as  England  opportunity  will  surely  not  be  wanting 
for  its  useful  exercise."  Nature  has  adorned  you  with  the 
richest  gifts  of  mind  and  body  ;  fortune  with  noble  blood 
and  wealth  and  splendid  family  connections  ;  and  you  from 
your  first  boyhood  have  cultivated  your  intellect  by  those 
studies  which  are  most  helpful  to  men  in  their  struggle  af- 
ter virtue.  Will  you  then  refuse  your  energies  to  your  coun- 
try when  it  demands  them?  Will  you  bury  that  distin- 
guished talent  God  has  given  you  ?"  The  career  Languet 
had  traced  out  fo.r  Philip  was  that  of  a  public  servant  ;  and 
he  consistently  strove  to  check  the  young  man's  restless- 
ness, to  overcome  his  discouragement,  and  to  stimulate  him 
while  depressed  by  the  frivolities  of  daily  life.  It  was  his 
object  to  keep  Philip  from  roaming  or  wasting  his  powers 
on  adventure,  while  he  also  fortified  his  will  against  the  se- 
ductions of  an  idle  Court. 

During  this  summer  of  1577  Languet  once  or  twice  al- 


\ 


44  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

hides  in  very  cautious  language  to  some  project  of  great 
importance  which  had  recently  been  mooted  between  them 
on  the  Continent.  It  involved  the  participation  of  emi- 
nent foreigners.  It  required  the  sanction  and  active  as- 
sistance of  the  queen.  What  this  was  we  do  not  know. 
Some  of  Sidney's  biographers  are  of  opinion  that  it  con- 
cerned his  marriage  with  a  German  noblewoman.  Others 
— perhaps  with  better  reason — conjecture  that  his  candidat- 
ure for  the  Polish  Crown  had  then  been  mooted.  When 
Henri  III.  resigned  the  throne  of  Poland  for  that  of  France 
in  1574  Stephen  Bathori  was  elected  king.  He  lived  un- 
il  1585.  But  in  1577,  the  year  of  Languet's  mysterious 
letters,  he  had  not  yet  given  substantial  proof  of  his  future 
policy ;  and  the  Protestant  party  in  Europe  might  have 
been  glad  to  secure  a  nominee  of  the  English  queen  as  can- 
didate in  the  case  of  a  vacancy.  There  is  no  doubt  that  a 
belief  prevailed  after  Sidney's  death  that  the  crown  of  Po- 
land had  in  some  sort  been  offered  him.  The  author  of 
The  Life  and  Death  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney  mentions  it.  Sir 
Robert  Naunton  asserts  that  the  queen  refused  "to  further 
his  advancement,  not  onl*  out  of  emulation,  but  out  of  fear 
to  lose  the  jewel  of  her  times."  Fuller  says  that  Sidney 
declined  the  honour,  preferring  to  be  "  a  subject  to  Queen 
Elizabeth  than  a  sovereign  beyond  the  seas."  It  would  be 
far  too  flattering  to  Philip  to  suppose  that  a  simple  Eng- 
lish gentleman  in  his  twenty-third  year  received  any  actual 
offer  of  a  throne  which  a  king  of  France  had  recently  va- 
cated, and  which  was  generally  given  by  election  to  such 
as  could  afford  to  pay  dearly  for  the  honour.  Yet  it  is 
not  impossible  that  the  Reformed  princes  of  Germany  may 
have  thought  him  a  good  pawn  to  play,  if  Elizabeth  were 
willing  to  back  him.  The  Foedus  Evangelicum,  it  must  be 
remembered,  was  by  no  means  yet  devoid  of  actuality. 


in.]      ENTRANCE  INTO  COURT-LIFE  AND  EMBASSY.         45 

Mary  Sidney's  recent  marriage  to  the  Earl  of  Pembroke 
had  strengthened  the  family  by  an  alliance  with  one  of 
England's  chief  noblemen.  After  coming  home  Philip 
paid  his  sister  a  visit  at  Wilton,  returning,  however,  soon 
to  Court  in  order  to  watch  his  father's  interests.  Sir  Hen- 
ry Sidney  was  still  at  his  post  as  Lord  Deputy  of  Ireland ; 
and  in  his  absence  the  usual  intrigues  were  destroying  his 
credit  with  the  queen.  Brilliant,  unscrupulous,  mendacious, 
Ormond  poured  calumnies  and  false  insinuations  into  her 
ear.  She  gave  the  earl  too  easy  credence,  partly  because 
he  was  handsome,  and  partly  because  the  government  of 
Ireland  was  always  costing  money.  There,  seems  little 
doubt  that  Sir  Henry  made  no  pecuniary  profit  for  himself 
out  of  his  viceroyalty,  and  that  he  managed  the  realm  as 
economically  and  as  justly  as  was  possible.  Ormond  and 
the  nobles  of  his  party,  however,  complained  that  the  Lord 
Deputy  decided  cases  inequitably  against  them,  that  his 
method  of  government  was  ruinously  expensive,  and  that 
he  tyrannously  exacted  from  them  land-taxes  which  had 
been  remitted  by  his  predecessors.  Philip  undertook  his 
father's  defence  in  a  written  statement,  only  the  rough 
notes  of  which,  and  those  imperfect,  have  come  down  to 
us.  He  met  the  charge  of  injustice  by  challenging  the  ac- 
cusers to  show  evidence.  On  the  question  of  the  land-tax, 
or  cess,  which  Ormond  and  others  claimed  to  have  remit- 
ted, he  proved  the  inequity  and  the  political  imprudence  of 
freeing  great  nobles  from  burdens  which  must  be  paid  by 
the  poor.  These  poor,  moreover,  were  already  taxed  by 
their  lords,  and  shamefully  ill-treated  by  them.  "And  priv- 
ileged persons,  forsooth,  be  all  the  rich  men  of  the  pale, 
the  burden  only  lying  upon  the  poor,  who  may  groan,  for 
their  cry  cannot  be  heard."  Sir  Henry  had  proposed  to 
Convert  the  cess,  computed  at  an  average  of  ten  pounds, 


46  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

into  a  fixed  annual  payment  of  five  marks.  At  this  the 
nobles  cried  out  that  they  were  being  robbed.  Philip 
demonstrated  that,  according  to  their  own  showing,  a  very 
easy  compromise  had  been  offered  them.  On  the  head  of 
economy,  he  was  able  to  make  it  clear  that  his  father's  ad- 
ministration tended  to  save  money  to  the  State,  allowing 
always  for  the  outlay  needed  by  an  army  in  occupation  of 
a  turbulent  and  disaffected  country.  Such  a  government 
as  that  of  Ireland  could  not  be  conducted  cheaper.  But 
some  had  urged  that  the  Lord  Deputy  exceeded  measure 
in  the  severity  of  his  justice  and  the  cruelty  of  his  execu- 
tive. Philip,  contended  that  a  greater  lenity  than  that 
which  his  father  showed  would  have  been  worse  than  folly. 
What  he  wrote  upon  this  point  is  worthy  of  careful  peru- 
sal at  the  present  day.  It  reminds  us  that  the  Irish  diffi- 
culty has  been  permanent,  and  without  appreciable  altera- 
tion, through  three  centuries.  "Little  is  lenity  to  prevail 
in  minds  so  possessed  with  a  natural  inconstancy  ever  to 
go  in  a  new  fortune,  with  a  revengeful  hate  to  all  English 
as  to  their  only  conquerors,  and  that  which  is  most  of  all, 
with  so  ignorant  obstinacy  in  Papistry  that  they  do  in 
their  souls  detest  the  present  Government."  And  again  : 
"  Truly  the  general  nature  of  all  countries  not  fully  con- 
quered is  against  it  (i.e.  against  gentle  dealing  and  conces- 
sions). For  until  by  time  they  find  the  sweetness  of  due 
subjection,  it  is  impossible  that  any  gentle  means  should 
put  out  the  remembrance  of  their  lost  liberty.  And  that 
the  Irishman  is  that  way  as  obstinate  as  any  nation,  with 
whom  no  other  passion  can  prevail  but  fear  (besides  their 
history,  which  plainly  points  it  out),  their  manner  of  life, 
wherein  they  choose  rather  all  filthiness  than  any  law,  and 
their  own  consciences,  who  best  know  their  own  natures, 
give  sufficient  proof  of.  For  under  the  sun  there  is  not  a 


in.]      ENTRANCE  INTO  COURT-LIFE  AND  EMBASSY.         47 

nation  that  live  more  tyrannously  than  they  do  one  over 
the  other." 

This  defence  seems  to  have  satisfied  Elizabeth  and  excul- 
pated the  Lord  Deputy,  without  impairing  its  writer's  cre$- 
it  at  Court.  It  is  the  first  of  a  series  of  semi-official  doc- 
uments, in  which,  more  perhaps  than  in  any  other  species 
of  composition,  Sidney  showed  his  power  as  a  master  of 
language.  Waterhouse  wrote  to  Sir  Henry  that  it  was  the 
most  excellent  discourse  he  had  ever  read,  adding,  "  Let  no 
man  compare  with  Sir  Philip's  pen."  During  the  dispute, 
and  before  the  queen  had  expressed  her  satisfaction  with 
the  Lord  Deputy's  defence,  Ormond  addressed  some  re^ 
marks  to  Philip  in  the  presence  of  the  Court.  The  young 
man  made  no  reply,  marking  his  hostility  by  silence.  It 
was  expected  that  a  duel  would  follow  upon  this  affront  to 
the  great  Irish  earl.  But  Ormond,  judging  it  expedient  to 
treat  Sidney  as  a  virtuous  gentleman  who  was  bound  to 
defend  his  father's  cause,  conceded  him  the  indulgence  of 
a  superior. 

The  storm  which  threatened  Sir  Henry  Sidney  blew 
over,  in  great  measure  owing  to  his  son's  skilful  advocacy. 
Still  Elizabeth  retained  her  grudge  against  the  Viceroy. 
He  had  not  yet  contrived  to  flatter  that  most  sensitive 
member  of  the  royal  person — her  pocket.  Consequently, 
the  year  1578  scarcely  opened  before  new  grievances  arose. 
The  queen  talked  of  removing  Sir  Henry  from  his  office — 
with,  perchance,  the  cumbrous  honour  of  a  peerage.  He, 
on  the  other  hand,  presented  bills  to  the  amount  of  three 
thousand  and  one  pounds,  for  money  disbursed  from  his 
private  estate  in  the  course  of  public  business.  She  re- 
fused to  sign  a  warrant  for  their  payment,  alleging,  appar- 
ently, that  the  Lord  Deputy  was  creating  debts  of  State  in 
his  own  interest.  Sir  Henry  retorted — and  all  the  extant 


48  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

documents  tend  to  the  belief  that  his  retort  was  true — that 
he  had  spent  thus  much  of  his  own  moneys  upon  trust  for 
her  Majesty ;  and  that  he  needed  the  sum,  barring  one 
pound,  for  the  payment  of  his  daughter's  marriage  portion 
to  the  Earl  of  Pembroke.  Perusal  of  the  correspondence 
seems  to  me  to  prove  that,  however  bad  a  diplomatist  and 
stubborn  a  viceroy  Sir  Henry  may  have  been,  he  was,  at 
any  rate,  a  thoroughly  honest  man.  And  this  honest  man's 
debts,  contracted  in  her  name  and  in  her  service,  the  queen 
chose  to  repudiate.  It  is  not  wonderful  that,  under  these 
circumstances,  the  Lord  Deputy  thought  of  throwing  up 
his  appointment  and  retiring  into  private  life  in  England. 
Philip's  persuasions  induced  his  father  to  abandon  this  de- 
sign. He  pointed  out  that  the  term  of  office  would  expire 
at  Michaelmas,  and  that  it  would  be  more  for  the  Deputy's 
credit  to  tender  his  resignation  at  that  time  without  an 
open  ruptureo  One  of  his  letters  shows  how  valuable  in 
these  domestic  counsels  was  the  Lady  Mary  Sidney.  Philip 
writes  that  in  the  meantime — that  is,  between  Ladyda}7  and 
Michaelmas — Sir  Henry's  friends  would  do  their  best  to 
heal  the  breach  ;  "  Among  which  friends,  before  God,  there 
is  none  proceeds  either  so  thoroughly  or  so  wisely  as  your 
lady,  my  mother.  For  mine  own  part,  I  have  had  only 
light  from  her." 

These  sentences  afford  a  very  pleasing  insight  into  the 
relations  between  father,  mother,  and  eldest  son.  But  the 
tension  of  the  situation  for  Philip  at  Court,  playing  his 
part  as  queen's  favourite  while  his  father  was  disgraced, 
shouldering  the  Irish  braggarts  whom  she  protected,  and 
who  had  declared  war  against  her  viceroy,  presenting  a 
brave  front  before  the  world,  with  only  an .  impoverished 
estate  to  back  him, — the  tension  of  this  situation  must 
have  been  too  great  for  his  sensitive  nerves.  We  find  that 


in.]      ENTRANCE  INTO  COURT-LIFlh£N& £&&K$S Y.         49 


he  indulged  suspicions.  Things  transpired  at  Court  which 
he  believed  had  been  committed  only  in  most  private  cor- 
respondence to  Sir  Henry.  He  wrote  to  his  father:  "I 
must  needs  impute  it  to  some  men  about  you  that  there  is 
little  written  from  you  or  to  you  that  is  not  perfectly 
known  to  your  professed  enemies."  A  few  weeks  after 
penning  these  words  he  thought  that  he  had  caught  the 
culprit  in  Mr.  Edmund  Molineux,  Sir  Henry's  secretary. 
This  explains  the  following  furious  epistle,  which  no  biog? 
rapher  of  Sidney  should  omit  in  its  proper  place : — 

"  MR.  MOLINEUX — Few  words  are  best.  My  letters  to  my  father 
have  come  to  the  ears  of  some :  neither  can  I  condemn  any  but  you. 
If  it  be  so,  you  have  played  the  very  knave  with  me ;  and  so  I  will 
make  you  know,  if  I  have  good  proof  of  it.  But  that  for  so  much  \s 
is  past.  For  that  is  to  come,  I  assure  you,  before  God,  that  if  ever  j I 
know  you  to  do  so  much  as  read  any  letter  I  write  to  my  father  with- 
out his  commandment  or  my  consent,  I  will  thrust  my  dagger  into 
you.  And  trust  to  it,  for  I  speak  in  earnest.  In  the  meantime,  fare- 
well.— From  Court,  this  last  of  May  1578.  By  me, 

"PHILIP  SIDNEY.'* 

Philip  had  made  a  great  mistake — a  mistake  not  unlike 
that  which  betrayed  him  into  false  judgment  of  his  com- 
rade Coningsby.  Molineux  was  as  true  as  steel  to  his  fa- 
ther, as  loyal  as  Abdiel  to  the  house  of  Sidney.  It  was  he 
who  composed  for  Hollingshed  the  heartfelt  panegyrics  of 
Sir  Henry,  Sir  Philip,  and  Lady  Mary.  On  this  occasion 
he  met  the  young  man's  brutal  insults  with  words  which 
may  have  taught  him  courtesy.  The  letter  deserves  to  be 
given  in  its  integrity  : — 

"  SIR — I  have  received  a  letter  from  you  which  as  it  is  the  first, 
so  the  same  is  the  sharpest  that  I  ever  received  from  any ;  and  there- 
fore it  amazeth  me  the  more  to  receive  such  an  one  from  you,  since  I 
have  (the  world  can  judge)  deserved  better  somewhere,  howsoever  it 
3* 


50  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

pleased  you  to  condemn  me  now.  But  since  it  is  (I  protest  to  God) 
without  cause,  or  yet  just  ground  of  suspicion,  you  use  me  thus,  I 
bear  the  injury  more  patiently  for  a  time,  and  mine  innocency  I  hope 
in  the  end  shall  try  mine  honesty,  and  then  I  trust  you  will  confess 
that  you  have  done  me  wrong.  And  since  your  pleasure  so  is  ex- 
pressed that  I  shall  not  henceforth  read  any  of  your  letters  (although 
I  must  confess  I  have  heretofore  taken  both  great  delight  and  profit 
in  reading  some  of  them)  yet  upon  so  hard  a  condition  as  you  seem 
to  offer,  I  will  not  hereafter  adventure  so  great  peril,  but  obey  you 
herein.  Howbeit,  if  it  had  pleased  you,  you  might  have  commanded 
me  in  a  far  greater  matter  with  a  less  penalty. — Yours,  when  it  shall 
please  you  better  to  conceive  of  me,  humbly  to  command, 

"  F.  HOLINEUX." 

We  doubt  not  that  Philip  made  honourable  amends  for 
his  unjust  imputations,  since  good  friendship  afterwards 
subsisted  between  him  and  Molineux.  The  incident,  on 
which  I  have  thought  fit  to  dwell,  reveals  something  not 
altogether  pleasing  in  our  hero's  character.  But  the  real 
deduction  to  be  drawn  from  it  is  that  his  position  at  this 
time  was  well-nigh  intolerable. 

In  the  midst  of  these  worrying  cares  he  remained  in  at- 
tendance on  the  queen.  It  seems  that  he  journeyed  with 
the  Court  in  all  her  progresses ;  and  in  May  he  formed  part 
of  the  royal  company  which  Leicester  welcomed  to  his 
house  at  Wanstead.  The  entertainment  provided  for  her 
Majesty  was  far  simpler  than  that  so  famous  one  at  Kenil- 
worth  in  1575.  Yet  it  has  for  us  a  special  interest,  inas- 
much as  here  Philip  produced  his  first  literary  essay.  This 
was  a  rural  masque  entitled,  The  Lady  of  the  May.  How 
it  came  to  be  written  we  know  not ;  peradventure  at  two 
sittings,  between  the  evening's  dance  and  retirement  to  bed. 
The  thing  is  slight  and  without  salt.  If  it  were  not  still 
quoted  in  the  list  of  Sidney's  works,  we  should  not  notice 
it ;  and  why  it  ever  was  printed  I  am  unable  to  conjecture, 


in.]      ENTRANCE  INTO  COURT-LIFE  AND  EMBASSY.         61 

except  upon  the  supposition  that  even  in  Elizabeth's  days 
the  last  drops  from  a  famous  pen,  however  dull  they  were, 
found  publishers.  Of  dramatic  conception  or  of  power  in 
dialogue  it  shows  nothing;  nor  are  the  lyrics  tuneful. 
There  is  plenty  of  flattery  introduced,  apparently  to  glut 
the  queen's  appetite  for  mud-honey,  but  yet  so  clumsily 
applied  as  to  suggest  a  suspicion  whether  the  poet  were 
not  laughing  at  her.  The  only  character  which  reveals 
force  of  portraiture  and  humour  is  that  of  Rombus,  the 
pedagogue,  into  whose  mouth  Sidney  has  put  some  long- 
winded  speeches,  satirising  the  pedantic  and  grossly  igno- 
rant style  in  vogue  among  village  school-masters.  Rombus, 
in  fact,  is  a  very  rough  sketch  for  the  picture  of  Master 
Holofernes,  as  may  be  judged  by  his  exordium  to  Queen 
Elizabeth — 

"  Stage  Direction. — Then  came  forward  Master  Rombus,  and,  with 

many  special  graces,  made  this  learned  oration  : — 
"Now  the  thunder-thumping  Jove  transfund  his  dotes  into  your 
excellent  formosity,  which  have,  with  your  resplendent  beams,  thus 
segregated  the  enmity  of  these  rural  animals :  I  am  *  potentissima 
domina,'  a  school-master ;  that  is  to  say,  a  pedagogue,  one  not  a  little 
versed  in  the  disciplinating  of  the  juvenile  fry,  wherein,  to  my  laud  I 
say  it,  I  use  such  geometrical  proportion,  as  neither  wanted  mansue- 
tude  nor  correction :  for  so  it  is  described — 

"  'Parcare  subjectos,  et  debellire  superbos.' 

Yet  hath  not  the  pulchritude  of  my  virtues  protected  me  from  the 
contaminating  hands  of  these  plebeians  ;  for  coming, '  solummodo,' 
to  have  parted  their  sanguinolent  fray,  they  yielded  me  no  more  rev- 
erence than  if  I  had  been  some  'pecorius  asinus.'  I,  even  I,  that  am, 
who  am  I  ?  '  Dixi ;  verbus  sapiento  satum  est.'  But  what  said  that 
Trojan  JEneas,  when  he  sojourned  in  the  surging  sulks  of  the  sandif- 

erous  seas  ? 

"  'Haec  olim  memonasse  juvebit.' 

Well,  well,  *  ad  propositos  revertebo ;'  the  purity  of  the  verity  is,  that 


52  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

a  certain  *  pulclira  puella  profecto,'  elected  and  constituted  by  the  in- 
tegrated determination  of  all  this  topographical  region,  as  the  sover- 
eign lady  of  this  dame  Maia's  month,  hath  been,  *  quodammodo,'  hunt- 
ed, as  you  would  say;  pursued  by  t\vo,  a  brace,  a  couple,  a  cast  of 
young  men,  to  whom  the  crafty  coward  Cupid  had,  *  inquam,'  deliv- 
ered his  dire  dolorous  dart." 

During  this  summer  Philip  obtained  a  place  at  Court, 
the  importance  of  which  his  friend  Languet  seems  to  have 
exaggerated.  Zouch  says  it  was  the  post  of  cup-bearer  to 
the  queen  ;  and  in  this  statement  there  is  no  improbability, 
but  there  is  also  nothing  to  warrant  it.  At  any  rate  the 
office  failed  to  satisfy  his  ambition ;  for  he  wrote  com- 
plain ingl^j^jusjia]^  of  the  irksomeness  of  Court  existence. 
How  (iisagreeable  that  must  in  some  respects  have  been  is 
made  clear  to  us  by  Lady  Mary's  letters  in  the  autumn  of 
this  year.  She  was  expecting  her  husband  home  from  Ire- 
land. He  had  to  reside  with  her  at  Hampton  Court,  where 
she  could  only  call  one  bedroom  her  own.  To  the.  faithful 
Molineux  she  writes : — 

"I  have  thought  good  to  put  you  in  remembrance  to  move  my 
Lord  Chamberlain  in  my  Lord's  name,  to  have  some  other  room 
than  my  chamber  for  my  Lord  to  have  his  resort  unto,  as  he  was 
wont  to  have ;  or  else  my  Lord  will  be  greatly  troubled,  when  he 
shall  have  any  matters  of  despatch ;  my  lodgings,  you  see,  being  very 
little,  and  myself  continually  sick  and  not  able  to  be  much  out  of  my 
bed.  For  the  night-time  one  roof,  with  God's  grace,  shall  serve  us. 
For  the  daytime,  the  queen  will  look  to  have  my  chamber  always  in 
a  readiness  for  her  Majesty's  coming  thither ;  and  though  my  Lord 
himself  can  be  no  impediment  thereto  by  his  own  presence,  yet  his 
Lordship,  trusting  to  no  place  else  to  be  provided  for  him,  will  be, 
as  I  said  before,  troubled  for  want  of  a  convenient  place  for  the  de- 
spatch of  such  people  as  shall  have  occasion  to  come  to  him.  There- 
fore, I  pray  you,  in  my  Lord's  own  name,  move  my  Lord  of  Sussex 
for  a  room  for  that  purpose,  and  I  will  have  it  hanged  and  lined  few 


in.]      ENTRANCE  INTO  COURT-LIFE  AND  EMBASSY.         53 

him  with  stuff  from  hence.  I  wish  you  not  to  be  unmindful  hereof ; 
and  so  for  this  time  I  leave  you  to  the  Almighty. — From  Chiswick, 
this  llth  October  1578." 

It  would  appear  that  Lady  Mary's  very  modest  request 
for  a  second  room,  which  she  undertook  to  furnish  out  of 
her  own  wardrobe,  was  not  at  once  granted.  Another  letter 
to  Molineux  shows  that  he  had  made  some  progress  in  the 
matter,  but  had  not  succeeded.  Hampton  Court,  she  writes, 
however  full  it  may  be,  has  always  several  spare  rooms. 
Perhaps  there  are  those  who  "  will  be  sorry  my  Lord  should 
have  so  sure  footing  in  the  Court."  Could  not  Molineux 
contrive  the  loan  of  a  parlour  for  her  husband  in  the  day- 
time? Yet,  after  all,  "  when  the  worst  is  known,  old  Lord 
Harry  and  his  old  Moll  will  do  as  well  as  they  can  in  part- 
ing, like  good  friends,  the  small  portion  allotted  our  long 
service  in  Court."  There  is  something  half  pathetic  and 
half  comic  in  the  picture  thus  presented  to  our  minds  of 
the  great  Duke  of  Northumberland's  daughter,  with  her 
husband,  the  Viceroy  of  Ireland  and  Wales,  dwelling  at 
hugger-mugger  in  one  miserable  chamber — she  well-nigh 
bedridden,  he  transacting  his  business  in  a  corner  of  it,  and 
the  queen  momently  expected  upon  visitations,  not  always, 
we  may  guess,  of  friendship  or  affection.  Yet  the  touch 
of  homely  humour  in  the  last  sentence  I  have  quoted  from 
the  noble  lady's  letter,  sheds  a  pleasant  light  upon  the  sor- 
did scene. 

Studying  the  details  of  Court  life  both  in  Italy  and  Eng- 
land at  this  period,  we  are  often  led  to  wonder  why  noble- 
men with  spacious  palaces  and  venerable  mansions  of  their 
own  to  dwell  in — why  men  of  genius  whose  brilliant  gifts 
made  them  acceptable  in  every  cultivated  circle — should 
have  submitted  so  complacently  to  its  ignoble  conditions. 
Even  those  who  seemed  unable  to  breathe  outside  the  sphere 


54  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

of  the  Court  spoke  most  bitterly  against  it.  Tasso  squan- 
dered his  health,  his  talents,  nay,  his  reason,  in  that  servi- 
tude. Guarini,  after  impairing  his  fortune,  and  wasting  the 
best  years  of  his  manhood  at  Ferrara,  retired  to  a  country 
villa,  and  indulged  his  spleen  in  venomous  invectives  against 
the  vices  and  the  ignominies  he  had  abandoned.  Marino, 
who  flaunted  his  gay  plumage  at  Turin  and  Paris,  screamed 
like  a  cockatoo  with  cynical  spite  whenever  the  word  Court 
was  mentioned.  The  only  wise  man  of  that  age  in  Italy 
was  the  literary  bravo  Aretino.  He,  having  debauched  his 
youth  in  the  vilest  places  of  the  Roman  Courts,  resolved  to 
live  a  free  man  henceforth.  Therefore  he  took  refuge  in 
Venice,  where  he  caressed  his  sensual  appetites  and  levied 
blackmail  on  society.  From  that  retreat,  which  soon  be- 
came a  sty  of  luxury,  he  hurled  back  upon  the  Courts  the 
filth  which  he  had  gathered  in  them.  His  dialogue  on 
Court  service  is  one  of  the  most  savage  and  brutally  naked 
exposures  of  depravity  which  satirical  literature  contains. 
In  England  there  was  indeed  a  far  higher  tone  of  manliness 
and  purity  and  personal  independence  at  the  Court  than 
obtained  in  Italy.  Yet  listen  to  Spenser's  memorable  lines, 
obviously  poured  forth  from  the  heart  and  coloured  by  bit- 
terest  experience : —  • 

"  Full  little  knowest  thou,  that  hast  not  tried, 
What  hell  it  is  in  suing  long  to  bide :  ' 

To  lose  good  days,  that  might  be  better  spent ; 
To  waste  long  nights  in  pensive  discontent ; 
To  speed  to-day,  to  be  put  back  to-morrow ; 
To  feed  on  hope,  to  pine  with  fear  and  sorrow ; 
To  have  thy  prince's  grace,  yet  want  her  peers' ; 
To  have  thy  asking,  yet  wait  many  years  ; 
To  fret  thy  soul  with  crosses  and  with  cares ; 
To  eat  thy  heart  through  comfortless  despairs ; 


in.]       ENTRANCE  INTO  COURT-LIFE  AND  EMBASSY.         65 

To  fawn,  to  crouch,  to  wait,  to  ride,  to  run, 
To  spend,  to  give,  to  want,  to  be  undone : 
Unhappy  wight,  born  to  disastrous  end, 
That  doth  his  life  in  so  long  tendance  spend !" 

Therefore  we  return  to  wondering  what  it  was  in  Courts 
which  made  gentlefolk  convert  broad  acres  into  cash  that 
they  might  shine  there,  which  lured  noblemen  from  their 
castles  and  oak-shaded  deer-parks  to  occupy  a  stuffy  bed- 
room in  a  royal  palace,  and  squires  from  their  moss-grown 
manor-houses  to  jolt  along  the  roads  on  horseback  in  at- 
tendance on  a  termagant  like  Elizabeth  or  a  learned  pig 
like  James  I.  The  real  answer  to  these  questionings  is 
that,  in  the  transition  from  media3val  to  modern  conditions 
of  life,  the  Court  had  become  a  social  necessity  for  folk  of 
a  certain  quality  and  certain  aspirations.  It  was  the  only 
avenue  to  public  employment;  the  only  sphere  in  which 
a  man  of  ambition,  who  was  neither  clerk  in  orders  nor 
lawyer,  could  make  his  mark ;  the  only  common  meeting- 
ground  for  rank,  beauty,  wealth,  and  genius.  Thus  it  exer- 
cised a  splendid  fascination,  the  reflex  of  which  is  luminous 
in  our  dramatic  literature.  After  reading  those  sad  and 
bitter  lines  of  Spenser,  we  should  turn  the  pages  of  Fletch- 
er's Valentinian,  where  the  allurements  of  the  Court  are 
eloquently  portrayed  in  the  great  scene  of  Lucina's  attempt- 
ed seduction.  Or  better,  let  us  quote  the  ecstasies  of  For- 
fcunatus  from  the  most  fanciful  of  Dekker's  plays : — 

"For  still  in  all  the  regions  I  have  seen, 
I  scorned  to  crowd  among  the  muddy  throng 
Of  the  rank  multitude,  whose  thickened  breath, 
Like  to  condensed  fogs,  do  choke  that  beauty 
Which  else  would  dwell  in  every  kingdom's  cheek. 
No,  I  still  boldly  stepped  into  their  courts, 

For  there  to  live  'tis  rare,  oh,  'tis  divine ! 
81 


56  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

There  shall  you  see  faces  angelical ; 

There  shall  you  see  troops  of  chaste  goddesses, 

Whose  star-like  eyes  have  power  (might  they  still  shine) 

To  make  night  day,  and  day  more  crystalline : 

Near  these  you  shall  behold  great  heroes, 

White-headed  counsellors,  and  jovial  spirits, 

Standing  like  fiery  cherubims  to  guard 

The  monarch  who  in  god-like  glory  sits 

In  midst  of  these,  as  if  this  deity 

Had  with  a  look  created  a  new  world, 

The  standers-by  being  the  fair  workmanship." 

Philip,  like  so  many  of  his  contemporaries,  continued  to 
waver  between  the  irresistible  attraction  of  the  Court  and 
the  centrifugal  force  which  urged  him  to  be  up  and  doing, 
anywhere,  at  any  occupation,  away  from  its  baneful  and 
degrading  idleness.  Just  now,  in  the  summer  of  1578,  he 
was  hankering  to  join  his  friend,  John  Casimir,  at  Zutphen. 
Elizabeth  had  nominated  this  prince  to  her  lieutenancy  in 
the  Low  Countries,  supplying  him  with  money  in  small 
quantities  for  the  levying  of  troops.  When  he  took  the 
field,  Philip  burned  to  accept  an  invitation  sent  him  by  the 
prince.  But  first  he  had  to  gain  his  father's  permission. 
Sir  Henry's  answer  is  the  model  of  kindness  and  of  gentle 
unselfishness.  He  begins  by  acknowledging  the  honour 
paid  his  son,  and  commending  Philip's  eagerness.  But 
"when  I  enter  into  the  consideration  of  mine  own  estate, 
and  call  to  mind  what  practices,  informations,  and  wicked 
accusations  are  devised  against  me,  and  what  an  assistance 
in  the  defence  of  those  causes  your  presence  would  be  unto 
me,  reposing  myself  so  much  both  upon  your  help  and  judg- 
ment, I  strive  betwixt  honour  and  necessity  what  allowance 
I  may  best  give  of  that  motion  for  your  going."  Then  he 
goes  on  to  say  that  he  leaves  the  consideration  of  these 
matters  to  his  son,  and  will  in  no  way  check  his  inclination 


in.]      ENTRANCE  INTO  COURT-LIFE  AND  EMBASSY.         57 

or  refuse  his  consent.  Philip  sacrificed  his  wishes,  and 
remained  in  England  to  assist  his  father.  This  act  of  filial 
compliance  cost  him,  as  it  happened,  nothing ;  for  Casimir's 
dealings  in  the  Netherlands  brought  no  credit  to  himself  or 
his  companions.  None  the  less  should  we  appreciate  the 
amiable  trait  in  Sidney's  character. 

Sir  Henry  returned  in  due  course  to  England  in  the  au- 
tumn, and  tendered  his  resignation  of  the  Irish  Viceroyalty. 
He  still  maintained  his  post  as  Lord  President  of  Wales. 
On  New  Year's  Day,  1579,  presents  were  exchanged,  as 
usual,  between  Elizabeth  and  her  chief  courtiers.  Poor  Sir 
Henry,  out  of  pocket  as  he  was,  presented  her  Majesty  with 
a  jewel  of  gold,  diamonds,  pearls,  and  rubies,  upon  which 
was  wrought  a  figure  of  Diana.  She  returned  a  hundred 
and  thirty-eight  ounces  of  gold  plate.  Lady  Mary  and 
Philip  offered  articles  of  dress,  receiving  their  equivalent  in 
plate.  Prince  Casimir,  who  had  to  answer  for  his  malcon- 
duct  of  affairs  in  the  Low  Countries,  reached  London  in 
the  month  of  January.  The  queen  gave  him  a  gracious 
reception.  He  was  nominated  to  a  stall  in  St.  George's 
chapel,  and  entertained  with  various  amusements.  Among 
other  sports,  we  hear  that  he  shot  a  stag  in  Hyde  Park. 
On  the  12th  of  February  he  again  left  England  with  pres- 
ents from  the  queen.  A  letter  of  the  day  significantly  al- 
ludes to  her  unwilling  bestowal  of  money  on  the  prince: 
"There  hath  been  somewhat  to  do  to  bring  her  unto  it, 
and  Mr.  Secretary  Walsingham  bare  the  brunt  thereof." 

One  incident  of  Casimir's  visit  must  not  be  omitted. 
Hubert  Languet,  old  as  he  now  was,  and  failing  in  health, 
resolved  to  set  his  eyes  once  more  on  his  beloved  Philip. 
u  I  am  almost  afraid,"  he  wrote  in  January,  "  that  my 
great  desire  of  seeing  you  may  betray  me  into  thinking  I 
am  better  than  I  am,  yet  I  will  do  my  very  utmost  to  be 


58  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP.III, 

ready  for  the  journey,  even  though  I  should  take  it  at  the 
peril  of  my  life."  He  came  and  went  safely,  had  the 
pleasure  of  conversing  with  Philip,  and  made  friends  with 
the  chief  members  of  the  Sidney  family.  A  letter  written 
in  the  autumn  of  the  next  year  shows  that  this  experienced 
judge  of  men  and  cities  formed  no  very  favourable  opin- 
ion of  the  English  Court.  "  I  was  pleased  last  winter  to 
find  you  flourishing  in  favour,  and  highly  esteemed  by  all 
men.  Yet,  to  conceal  nothing,  it  appeared  to  me  that  the 
manners  of  your  Court  are  less  manly  than  I  could  wish ; 
and  the  majority  of  your  great  folk  struck  me  as  more 
eager  to  gain  applause  by  affected  courtesy,  than  by  such 
virtues  as  benefit  the  commonwealth,  and  are  the  chief 
ornament  of  noble  minds  and  high-born  personages.  It 
grieved  rne  then,  as  also  your  other  friends,  that  you 
should  waste  the  flower  of  your  youth  in  such  trifles.  I 
began  to  fear  lest  your  excellent  disposition  should  at  last 
be  blunted,  lest  you  should  come  by  habit  to  care  for 
things  which  soften  and  emasculate  our  mind." 

We  have  already  seen  that  Sidney  was  not  otherwise 
than  himself  alive  to  these  dangers,  and  that  he  chafed 
continually  at  the  "  expense  of  spirit  in  a  waste"  of  frivoli- 
ties. As  a  couplet  in  one  of  his  occasional  poems  puts  it — 

=  "  Greater  was  the  shepherd's  treasure, 
Than  this  false,  fine,  courtly  pleasure." 

From  the  same  poem  we  learn  that  his  friendship  for 
Fulke  Greville  and  Edward  Dyer  continued  to  be  his  main- 
stay at  the  Court;  and  when  I  enter  upon  the  details  of 
his  literary  career,  it  will  become  apparent  that  much  of 
his  time  had  been  already  spent  with  these  and  other  cul- 
tivated gentlefolk  in  the  prosecution  of  serious  studies. 
For  the  present  it  seems  better  not  to  interrupt-the  history 
of  his  external  life. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


THE  years_ljrt9__  andJL,580^_are^,pf  imp  o*4a»ee  in"  th e^bi- 
ography  of  Sidney,  owing  to  the  decided  part  he  took  in 
the  discussion  of  the  French  match.  Elizabeth's  former 
suitor,  d'Alenc^on,  now  bore  the  title  of  Duke  of  Anjou, 
by  his  brother  Henri's  accession  to  the  throne  of  France. 
Time  had  cast  a  decent  veil  over  the  memory  of  St.  Bar- 
tholomew, and  Anjou  was  now  posing  as  the  protector  of 
national  liberties  in  the  Low  Countries.  He  thought  the 
opportunity  good  for  renewing  negotiations  with  the 
Queen  of  England.  That  the  Court  of  the  Valois  was 
anxious  to  arrange  the  marriage  admits  of  no  doubt.  The 
sums  of  money  spent  in  presents  and  embassies  render 
this  certain,  for  Catherine  de'  Medici*  and  her  sons  were 
always  in  pecuniary  difficulties.  They  could  not  afford  to 
throw  gold  away  on  trifles. 

Elizabeth  showed  a  strong  inclination  to  accept  the 
duke's  proposal.  She  treated  his  envoy,  Du  Simiers,  with 
favour,  and  kept  up  a  brisk  correspondence  with  Paris. 
The  match,  however,  was  extremely  unpopular  with  the 
English  people.  In  the  autumn  of  1579  there  appeared  a 
pamphlet  entitled :  "  The  Discovery  of  the  Gaping  Gulf, 
whereinto  England  is  like  to  be  swallowed,  by  a  French 
marriage,  if  the  Lord  forbid  not  the  Banns,  by  letting  her 


60  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

Majesty  see  the  Sin  and  Punishment  thereof."  This  suf- 
ficed to  indicate  the  temper  of  the  best  part  of  the  nation, 
the  Protestants,  who  saw  their  religious  and  political  liber- 
ties in  danger.  Stubhs  and  Page,  the  author  and  the 
printer  of  this  u  lewd  and  seditious  book,"  as  it  was  termed 
by  royal  proclamation,  were  each  condemned  to  lose  the 
right  hand.  Stubbs,  when  the  hangman  had  performed 
his  office,  waved  his  hat  with  the  left  hand,  crying  "  God 
save  the  Queen !"  Page  pointed  to  his  bloody  hand  upon 
the  ground,  and  said,  "  There  lies  the  hand  of  a  true  Eng- 
lishman !" 

At  Court  opinion  was  divided.  Elizabeth's  flatterers, 
with  Oxford  at  their  head,  declared  themselves  loudly  in  fa- 
vour of  the  match.  Leicester  opposed  it ;  but  Du  Simiers' 
opportune  discovery  of  the  secret  marriage  with  Lady 
Essex  ruined  his  credit.  The  great  earl  had  to  retire  in 
disgrace.  Camden  relates  that  the  queen  banished  him 
until  further  notice  to  Greenwich  Castle.  Fulke  Greville 
says  "  the  French  faction  reigning  had  cast  aspersions  upon 
his  (Sidney's)  uncle  of  Leicester,  and  made  him,  like  a 
wise  man  (under  colour  of  taking  physic)  voluntarily  be- 
come prisoner  in  his  chamber."  Whether  his  retirement 
was  compulsory  or 'voluntary  matters  little.  For  the  time 
he  lost  his  influence,  and  was  unable  to  show  his  face  at 
Court.  Thus  Philip  who  had  already  elected  to  "join 
with  the  weaker  party  and  oppose  this  torrent,"  found 
himself  at  the  moment  of  his  greatest  need  deprived  of 
the  main  support  which  powerful  connections  gave  him. 

Greville  has  devoted  a  chapter  to  his  action  in  this  mat- 
ter, analysing  with  much  detail  the  reasons  which  moved 
him  to  oppose  the  queen's  inclination.  It  is  not  necessary 
to  report  his  friend's  view  of  the  case,  since  I  shall  shortly 
have  to  present  an  abstract  of  the  famous  document  which 


iv.J        THE  FRENCH  MATCH  AND  "THE  ARCADIA."          61 

Sidney  drew  np  for  Elizabeth's  perusal.  Yet  the  exordium 
to  this  chapter  may  be  quoted,  as  representing  in  brief  his 
position  at  the  close  of  1579. 

"  The  next  doubtful  stage  he  had  to  act  upon  (howsoever  it  may 
seem  private)  was  grounded  upon  a  public  and  specious  proposition 
of  marriage  between  the  late  famous  queen  and  the  Duke  of  Anjou. 
With  which  current,  although  he  saw  the  great  and  wise  men  of  the 
time  suddenly  carried  down,  and  every  one  fishing  to  catch  the  queen's 
humour  in  it ;  yet  when  he  considered  the  difference  of  years,  person, 
education,  state,  and  religion  between  them  ;  and  then  called  to  mind 
the  success  of  our  former  alliances  with  the  French ;  he  found  many 
reasons  to  make  question  whether  it  would  prove  poetical  or  real  on 
their  part.  And  if  real,  whether  the  balance  swayed  not  unequally, 
by  adding  much  to  them  and  little  to  his  sovereign.  The  duke's  great- 
ness being  only  name  and  possibility ;  and  both  these  either  to  wither 
or  to  be  maintained  at  her  cost.  Her  state,  again,  in  hand ;  and 
though  royally  sufficient  to  satisfy  that  queen's  princely  and  moder- 
ate desires  or  expenses,  yet  perchance  inferior  to  bear  out  those 
mixed  designs  into  which  his  ambition  or  necessities  might  entice  or 
draw  her." 

It  came  to  pass,  through  Leicester's  disgrace,  that  Philip  ^ 
stood  almost  alone  at  Court  as  the  resolute  opponent  of  \ 
the  French  faction.  The  profligate  anounscrupulons  Earl 
of  Oxford,  now  foremost  in  the  queen's  favour,  was  carrying 
his  head  aloft,  boastful  of  his  compliance  with  her  wishes, 
and  counting  doubtless  on  the  highest  honours  when  the 
match  should  be  completed.  An  accident  brought  the 
two  champions  of  the  opposed  parties  into  personal  col- 
lision. One  of  Languet's  letters  enables  us  to  fix  the  date 
of  the  event  in  September  1579,  and  Greville's  minute  ac- 
count of  the  same  is  so  curious  that  I  shall  transcribe  it 
without  further  comment. 

"  Thus  stood  the  Court  at  that  time ;  and  thus  stood  this  ingenuous 
spirit  in  it  If  dangerously  in  men's  opinions  who  are  curious  of  the 


62  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  L<,w. 

present,  and  in  it  rather  to  do  craftily  than  well :  yet,  I  say,  that 
princely  heart  of  hers  was  a  sanctuary  unto  him ;  and  as  for  the  peo- 
ple, in  whom  many  times  the  lasting  images  of  worth  are  preferred 
before  the  temporary  visions  of  art  or  favour,  he  could  not  fear  to  suf- 
fer any  thing  there,  which  would  not  prove  a  kind  of  trophy  to  him. 
...  In  this  freedom  of  heart,  being  one  day  at  tennis,  a  peer  of  this 
realm,  born  great,  greater  by  alliance,  and  superlative  in  the  prince's 
favour,  abruptly  came  into  the  tennis  -  court ;  and,  speaking  out  of 
these  three  paramount  authorities,  he  forgot  to  entreat  that  which  he 
could  not  legally  command.  When,  by  the  encounter  of  a  steady  ob- 
ject, finding  unrespectiveness  in  himself  (though  a  great  lord)  not  re- 
spected by  this  princely  spirit,  he  grew  to  expostulate  more  roughly. 
The  returns  of  which  style  coming  still  from  an  understanding  heart, 
that  knew  what  was  due  to  itself  and  what  it  ought  to  others,  seemed 
(through  the  mists  of  my  lord's  passion,  swollen  with  the  wind  of  this 
faction  then  reigning)  to  provoke  in  yielding.  Whereby,  the  less 
amazement  or  confusion  of  thoughts  he  stirred  up  in  Sir  Philip,  the 
more  shadows  this  great  lord's  own  mind  was  possessed  with ;  till  at 
last  with  rage  (which  is  ever  ill-disciplined)  he  commands  them  to  de- 
part the  court.  To  this  Sir  Philip  temperately  answers ;/ that  if  his 
lordship  had  been  pleased  to  express  desire  in  milder  characters,  per- 
chance he  might  have  led  out  those  that  he  should  now  find  would 
not  be  driven  out  with  any  scourge  of  fury.  This  answer  (like  a  bel- 
lows) blowing  up  the  sparks  of  exces^iilready  kindled,  made  my  lord 
scornfully  call  Sir  Philip  by  the  name  of  puppy.  In  which  progress 
of  heat,  as  the  tempest  grew  more  and  more  vehement  within,  so  did 
their  hearts  breathe  out  their  perturbations  in  a  more  loud  and  shrill 
accent.  The  French  Commissioners  unfortunately  had  that  day  au- 
dience in  those  private  galleries  whose  windows  looked  into  the  ten- 
nis-court. They  instantly  drew  all  to  this  tumult :  every  sort  of  quar- 
rels sorting  well  with  their  humours,  especially  this.  Which  Sir 
Philip  perceiving,  and  rising  with  an  inward  strength  by  the  prospect 
of  a  mighty  faction  against  him,  asked  my  lord  with  a  loud  voice  that 
which  he  heard  clearly  enough  before.  Who  (like  an  echo  that  still 
multiplies  by  reflexions)  repeated  this  epithet  of  puppy  the  second 
time.  Sir  Philip,  resolving  in  one  answer  to  conclude  both  the  atten- 
tive hearers  and  passionate  actor,  gave  my  lord  a  lie,  impossible  (as  he 
averred)  to  be  retorted ;  in  respect  all  the  world  knows,  puppies  are 
gotten  by  dogs  and  children  by  men. 


iv.]        THE  FRENCH  MATCH  AND  "THE  ARCADIA."          63 

"  Hereupon  these  glorious  inequalities  of  fortune  in  his  lordship  were 
put  to  a  kind  of  pause  by  a  precious  inequality  of  nature  in  this  gen- 
tleman ;  so  that  they  both  stood  silent  a  while,  like  a  dumb  show  in 
a  tragedy ;  till  Sir  Philip,  sensible  of  his  own  wrong,  the  foreign  and 
factious  spirits  that  attended,  and  yet  even  in  this  question  between 
him  and  his  superior  tender  of  his  country's  honour,  with  some  words 
of  sharp  accent  led  the  way  abruptly  out  of  the  tennis-court ;  as  if  so 
unexpected  an  incident  were  not  fit  to  be  decided  in  that  place. 
Whereof  the  great  lord  making  another  sense,  continues  his  play, 
without  any  advantage  of  reputation,  as-  by  the  standard  of  humours 
in  those  times  it  was  conceived." 

Thus  the  Earl  of  Oxford  called  Sidney  a  puppy  ;  and  Sid- 
ney gave  him  the  lie.  It  was  judged  inevitable  that  the  for- 
mer would  send  a  challenge  and  a  duel  would  ensue.  But 
Oxford  delayed  to  vindicate  his  honour.  The  Lords  of  the 
Council  intervened,  and  persuaded  the  queen  to  effect  a 
reconciliation.  She  pointed  out  to  Sidney  that  he  owed 
deference  to  a  peer  of  the  realm.  "  He  besought  her  Maj- 
esty to  consider  that  although  he  were  a  great  lord  by 
birth,  alliance,  and  grace  ;  yet  he  was  no  lord  over  him." 
As  free  men  and  gentlemen  the  earl  and  himself  were 
equals,  except  in  the  matter  of  precedency.  Moreover,  he 
reminded  Elizabeth  that  it  had  been  her  father's  policy  to 
shield  the  gentry  from  the  oppression  of  the  grandees,  in 
the  wise  opinion  that  the  Crown  would  gain  by  using  the 
former  as  a  balance  to  the  power  and  ambition  of  the  lat- 
ter. But  having  stated  his  case,  he  seems  to  have  deferred 
to  her  wishes.  We  do  not  hear  that  apologies  were  made 
on  either  side.  The  matter,  however,  dropped  ;  Oxford  so 
far  retaining  his  resentment  that  Sidney's  friends  believed 
he  entertained  a  scheme  for  his  assassination. 

After  reading  this  passage,  we  may  remember  with  what 
spirit  on  a  former  occasion  Philip  gave  the  cut  direct  to 
Ormond.  It  is  also  interesting  to  com^aj^_Jhis  carriage 


64  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

upon  both  occasions  with  that  of  his  nephew,  the  Viscount 
Flsle,  who  bearded  James'  favourite,  James  Hay,  at  that 
time  Viscount  Doncaster,  in  his  own  chamber.  A  detailed 
account  of  this  incident,  written  by  Lord  PIsle  in  vindica- 
tion of  his  honour,  is  printed  among  the  Sidney  papers. 
It  casts  valuable  light  upon  the  manners  of  the  English 
Court,  and  illustrates  the  sturdy  temper  of  the  Sidney 
breed. 

Philip  contrived  apparently  to  keep  the  queen's  good- 
will until  the  beginning  of  1580;  for  she  accepted  his 
present  of  a  crystal  cup  on  New  Year's  Day.  But  his  po- 
sition at  Court  was  difficult.  Oxford,  it  was  commonly  be- 
lieved, had  planned  his  murder ;  and  being  an  Itaiianated 
Englishman — in  other  words,  a  devil  incarnate — he  may 
well  have  entertained  some  project  of  the  sort.  As  the 
avowed  champion  of  the  opposition,  wielding  a  pen  with 
which  no  man  could  compete,  Sidney  thought  the  time  had 
now  come  to  bring  matters  to  an  issue  by  plain  utterance. 
Therefore  he  drew  up  a  carefully-prepared  memorial,  set- 
ting forth  in  firm  but  most  respectful  language  those  argu- 
ments which  seemed  to  him  decisive  against  the  French 
match.  This  he  presented  to  Elizabeth  early  in  1580. 
Immediately  after  its  perusal,  she  began  to  show  her  re- 
sentment, and  Philip,  like  his  uncle,  found  it  convenient  to 
leave  the  Court.  His  retreat  was  Wilton,  where  he  re- 
mained in  privacy  for  seven  months. 

I  have  elsewhere  remarked  that  Sidney  showed  his  pow- 
ers as  a  thinker  and  prose-writer  nowhere  more  eminently 
than  in  documents,  presenting  a  wide  survey  of  facts,  mar- 
shalling a  series  of  arguments,  combining  the  prudence  of 
a  statesman  and  the  cunning  of  an  orator.  This  memorial 
to  the  queen  is  a  gem  in  its  own  species  of  composition. 
It  well  deserves  the  high  praise  which  has  been  given  it  as 


iv.]        THE  FRENCH  MATCH  AND  "THE  ARCADIA."          65 

"at  once  the  most  eloquent  and  the  most  courageous  piece 
of  that  nature  which  the  age  can  boast.  Ever}7  important 
view  of  the  subject  is  comprised  in  this  letter,  which  is 
long,  but  at  the  same  time  so  condensed  in  style  and  so 
skilfully  compacted  as  to  matter  that  it  well  deserves  to 
be  read  entire;  and  must  lose  materially  either  by  abridg- 
ment or  omission."  In  it  Sidney  appeals  to  what  Fulke 
Greville  quaintly  calls  "  that  princely  heart  of  hers  which 
was  a  sanctuary  unto  him."  He  enters  the  sanctuary  with 
reverence,  and  stands  alone  there,  pleading  like  a  servant 
before  his  mistress.  He  speaks  to  Elizabeth  in  the  char- 
acter of  a  simple  gentleman  and  loyal  subject,  relying  on 
no  support  of  party,  nor  representing  himself  as  the  mouth- 
piece of  an  indignant  nation.  This  independent  attitude 
gives  singular  lucidity  and  beauty  to  his  appeal.  It  is  the 
grave  but  modest  warning  of  a  faithful  squire  to  his  liege 
lady  in  the  hour  of  danger.  Although  extracts  can  do  but 
scanty  justice  to  the  merits  of  Sidney's  oratory,  I  must 
present  such  specimens  as  may  serve  as  samples  of  his 
English  style  and  display  his  method  of  exposition.  He 
begins  as  follows: — 

"  MOST  FEARED  AND  BELOVED,  MOST  SWEET  AND  GRACIOUS  SOVEREIGN 
— To  seek  out  excuses  of  this  my  boldness,  and  to  arm  the  acknowl- 
edging of  a  fault  with  reasons  for  it,  might  better  show  I  knew  I  did 
amiss,  than  any  way  diminish  the  attempt,  especially  in  your  judgment ; 
who  being  able  to  discern  lively  into  the  nature  of  the  thing  done,  it 
were  folly  to  hope,  by  laying  on  better  colours,  to  make  it  more  ac- 
ceptable. Therefore,  carrying  no  other  olive  branch  of  intercession, 
than  the  laying  of  myself  at  your  feet ;  nor  no  other  insinuation,  ei- 
ther for  attention  or  pardon,  but  the  true  vowed  sacrifice  of  unfeigned 
love ;  I  will,  in  simple  and  direct  terms  (as  hoping  they  shall  only 
come  to  your  merciful  eyes),  set  down  the  overflowing  of  my  mind  in 
this  most  important  matter,  importing,  as  I  think,  the  continuance  of 
your  safety ;  and  as  I  know,  the  joys  of  my  life.  And  because  my 
4 


66  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

words  (I  confess  shallow,  but  coming  from  the  deep  well-spring  of 
most  loyal  affection)  have  delivered  to  your  most  gracious  ear,  what  is 
the  general  sum  of  my  travelling  thoughts  therein ;  I  will  now  but 
only  declare,  what  be  the  reasons  that  make  me  think,  that  the  mar- 
riage with  Monsieur  will  be  unprofitable  unto  you ;  then  will  I  an- 
swer the  objection  of  those  fears,  which  might  procure  so  violent  a 
refuge." 

Having  finished  these  personal  explanations,  he  proceeds 
to  show  that  the  French  marriage  must  be  considered  from 
a  double  point  of  view,  first  as  regarding  the  queen's  estate, 
and  secondly  as  touching  her  person.  Her  real  power  as 
"  an  absolute  born,  and  accordingly  respected  princess," 
rests  upon  the  affection  of  her  subjects,  who  are  now  di- 
vided between  Protestants  and  Catholics.  The  former, 

"As  their  souls  live  by  your  happy  government,  so  are  they  your 
chief,  if  not  your  sole,  strength :  these,  howsoever  the  necessity  of  hu- 
man life  makes  them  lack,  yet  can  they  not  look  for  better  conditions 
than  presently  they  enjoy :  these,  how  their  hearts  will  be  galled,  if 
not  aliened,  when  they  shall  see  you  take  a  husband,  a  Frenchman 
and  a  Papist,  in  whom  (howsoever  fine  wits  may  find  farther  dealings 
or  painted  excuses)  the  very  common  people  well  know  this,  that  he 
is  the  son  of  a  Jezebel  of  our  age :  that  his  brother  made  oblation  of 
his  own  sister's  marriage,  the  easier  to  make  massacres  of  our  breth- 
ren in  belief :  that  he  himself,  contrary  to  his  promise,  and  all  grate- 
fulness, having  his  liberty  and  principal  estate  by  the  Hugonot's 
means,  did  sack  La  Charite,  and  utterly  spoil  them  with  fire  and 
sword.  This,  I  say,  even  at  first  sight,  gives  occasion  to  all,  truly  re- 
ligious, to  abhor  such  a  master,  and  consequently  to  diminish  much 
of  the  hopeful  love  they  have  long  held  to  you." 

The  Catholics  are  discontented  and  disaffected.  They  will 
grasp  easily  at  any  chance  of  a  revolution  in  religion  and 
the  State ;  and  to  such  folk  the  French  match  is  doubtless 
acceptable,  not  as  producing  good  to  the  commonwealth, 
but  as  offering  them  the  opportunity  of  change. 


iv.]    THE  FRENCH  MATCH  AND  "  THE  ARCADIA."    67 

"  If  then  the  affectionate  side  have  their  affections  weakened,  and 
the  discontented  have  a  gap  to  utter  their  discontent,  I  think  it  will 
seem  an  ill  preparative  for  the  patient  (I  mean  jour  estate)  to  a  great 
sickness." 

From  these  general  reflections  upon  the  state  of  parties 
in  England,  Sidney  passes  to  a  consideration  of  the  Duke 
of  An j ou's  personal  qualities.  The  following  paragraph  is 
marked  by  skilful  blending  of  candour  with  reserve.  Eliz- 
abeth had  declared  a  special  partiality  for  the  French  prince. 
It  is  her  subject's  duty  to  paint  him  as  inconstant,  restless 
in  ambition,  uncertain  in  his  affections,  swayed  by  light- 
brained  and  factious  counsellors,  greedy  of  power  at  any 
cost.  His  profession  of  the  Catholic  faith  renders  him  a 
dangerous  tool  in  the  hands  of  disaffected  English  Papists. 
His  position  as  next  heir  to  the  French  Crown  makes  him 
an  inconvenient  consort  for  the  queen  of  Great  Britain.  It 
is  not  likely  that  a  man  of  his  temper  and  pretensions 
should  put  up  with  a  subordinate  place  in  his  wife's  king- 
dom. And  why,  asks  Sidney,  has  Elizabeth  set  her  heart 
upon  a  marriage  so  fraught  with  dangers  ?  "  Often  have  I 
heard  you  with  protestation  say  no  private  pleasure  nor 
self-affection  could  lead  you  to  it."  Is  it  because  she  looks 
forward  to  the  bliss  of  children?  If  so  she  may  marry 
where  the  disadvantages  are  less.  But  she  has  herself  al- 
leged that  she  is  moved  by  "  fear  of  standing  alone  in  re- 
spect to  foreign  dealings,"  and  also  by  "  doubt  of  contempt 
in  them  from  whom  you  should  have  respect."  These  two 
points,  since  they  bias  the  queen's  mind,  have  to  be  sepa- 
rately entertained.  Leagues  are  usually  cemented  by  the 
desires  or  the  fears  of  the  contracting  parties.  What  pub- 
lic desires  have  Elizabeth  and  the  duke  in  common  ? 

"He  of  the  Romish  religion ;  and  if  he  be  a  man,  must  needs  have 
that  man-like  property  to  desire  that  all  men  be  of  his  mind :  you  the 


68  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

erector  and  defender  of  the  contrary,  and  the  only  sun  that  dazzleth 
their  eyes:  he  French,  and  desiring  to  make  France  great  ;  your  Maj- 
esty English,  and  desiring  nothing  less  than  that  France  should  not 
grow  great  :  he,  both  by  his  own  fancy  and  his  youthful  governors, 
embracing  all  ambitious  hopes  ;  having  Alexander's  image  in  his  head, 
but  perhaps  evil-painted  :  your  Majesty  with  excellent  virtue  taught 
what  you  should  hope,  and  by  no  less  wisdom  what  you  may  hope  ; 
with  a  council  renowned  over  all  Christendom  for  their  well-tempered 
minds,  having  set  the  utmost  of  their  ambition  in  your  favor,  and  the 
study  of  their  souls  in  your  safety." 

The  interests  and  the  dangers  of  France  and  England  are 
so  diverse  that  these  realms  have  no  fears  in  common  to 
unite  them.  Elizabeth,  therefore,  can  expect  nothing  but 
perplexity  in  her  foreign  dealings  from  the  match.  Is  it 
reasonable  that  she  should  hope  to  secure  the  affection  of 
her  subjects,  and  to  guard  herself  against  their  contempt,  by 
marriage  with  a  Frenchman  ?  Can  she  be  ignorant  that 
she  is  the  idol  of  her  people  ?  It  is  indeed  true  that  the 
succession  is  uncertain  through  lack  of  heirs  of  her  body  : 

"  But  in  so  lineal  a  monarchy,  wherever  the  infants  suck  the  love 
of  their  rightful  prince,  who  would  leave  the  beams  of  so  fair  a  sun 
for  the  dreadful  expectation  of  a  divided  company  of  stars  ?  Virtue 
and  justice  are  the  only  bonds  of  people's  love  ;  and  as  for  that  point, 
many  princes  have  lost  their  crowns  whose  own  children  were  mani- 
fest successors  ;  and  some  that  had  their  own  children  used  as  in- 
struments of  their  ruin  ;  not  that  I  deny  the  bliss  of  children,  but 
only  to  show  religion  and  equity  to  be  of  themselves  sufficient  stays." 


It  may  be  demurred  that  scurrilous  libels  have  been 
ed  against  her  Majesty,  proving  some  insubordination  in 
her  subjects.  She  ought,  however,  to  u  care  little  for  the 
barking  of  a  few  curs."  Honest  Englishmen  regard  such 
attacks  upon  her  dignity  as  blasphemous. 

"No,  no,  most  excellent  lady,  do  not  raze  out  the  impression  you 
have  made  in  such  a  multitude  of  hearts  ;  and  let  not  the  scum  of 


iv.]   THE  FRENCH  MATCH  AND  "  THE  ARCADIA."    69 

such  vile  minds  bear  any  witness  against  your  subjects'  devotions. 
The  only  means  of  avoiding  contempt  are  love  and  fear ;  love,  as  you 
have  by  divers  means  sent  into  the  depth  of  their  souls,  so  if  any- 
thing can  stain  so  true  a  form,  it  must  be  the  trimming  yourself  not 
in  your  own  likeness,  but  in  new  colours  unto  them." 

In  other  words,  Sidney  means  that  the  Queen's  proposed 
course  will  alienate  instead  of  confirming  the  affections  of 
the  nation.  He  then  passes  to  his  peroration,  which  I  shall 
quote  in  full  as  a  fair  specimen  of  his  eloquence : — 

"  Since  then  it  is  dangerous  for  your  state,  as  well  because  by  in- 
ward weakness  (principally  caused  by  division)  it  is  fit  to  receive 
harm ;  since  to  your  person  it  can  be  no  way  comfortable,  you  not 
desiring  marriage ;  and  neither  to  person  nor  estate  he  is  to  bring 
any  more  good  than  anybody ;  but  more  evil  he  may,  since  the  causes 
that  should  drive  you  to  this  are  either  fears  of  that  which  cannot 
happen,  or  by  this  means  cannot  be  prevented ;  I  do  with  most  hum- 
ble heart  say  unto  your  Majesty  (having  assayed  this  dangerous  help) 
for  your  standing  alone,  you  must  take  it  for  a  singular  honour  God 
hath  done  you,  to  be  indeed  the  only  protector  of  his  Church ;  and 
yet  in  worldly  respects  your  kingdom  very  sufficient  so  to  do,  if  you 
make  that  religion  upon  which  you  stand,  to  carry  the  only  strength, 
and  have  abroad  those  that  still  maintain  the  same  course ;  who  as 
long  as  they  may  be  kept  from  utter  falling,  your  Majesty  is  sure 
enough  from  your  mightiest  enemies.  As  for  this  man,  as  long  as  he 
is  but  Monsieur  in  might,  and  a  Papist  in  profession,  he  neither  can 
nor  will  greatly  shield  you ;  and  if  he  get  once  to  be  king,  his  defence 
will  be  like  Ajax's  shield,  which  rather  weighed  them  down  than  de- 
fended those  that  bare  it.  Against  contempt,  if  there  be  any,  which 
I  will  never  believe,  let  your  excellent  virtues  of  piety,  justice,  and 
liberality  daily,  if  it  be  possible,  more  and  more  shine.  Let  such  par- 
ticular actions  be  found  out  (which  be  easy  as  I  think  to  be  done)  by 
which  you  may  gratify  all  the  hearts  of  your  people.  Let  those  in 
whom  you  find  trust,  and  to  whom  you  have  committed  trust  in  your 
weighty  affairs  be  held  up  in  the  eyes  of  your  subjects.  Lastly,  do- 
ing as  you  do,  you  shall  be,  as  you  be,  the  example  of  princes,  the  or- 
nament of  this  age,  and  the  most  excellent  fruit  of  your  progenitors, 


70  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

and  the  perfect  mirror  of  your  posterity. — Your  Majesty's  faithful, 
humble,  and  obedient  subject,  P.  SYDNEY." 

In  the  early  spring  of  1580  Sidney  went  to  stay  at  Wil- 
ton, and  remained  there  during  the  summer.  His  sister, 
the  Countess  of  Pembroke,  for  whom  Jonson  wrote  the  fa- 
mous epitaph,  and  whom  Spenser  described  as 

"  The  gentlest  shepherdess  that  lives  this  day, 
And  most  resembling  both  in  shape  and  spright 
Her  brother  dear," 

was  united  to  him  by  the  tenderest  bonds  of  affection  and 
by  common  literary  interests.  Good  judges,  among  whom 
Jonson  may  be  reckoned,  valued  her  poetry  at  least  as  high 
as  Philip's ;  and  this  opinion  is  confirmed  by  what  remains 
to  us  of  her  compositions.  The  accent  of  deep  and  pas- 
sionate feeling  which  gives  force  to  some  of  the  Astrophel 
and  Stella  sonnets,  is  indeed  lacking  to  her  verse.  But  if 
we  are  right  in  believing  that  only  the  first  forty-two  psalms 
in  their  joint  translation  belong  to  him,  her  part  in  that 
work  exhibits  the  greater  measure  of  felicity.  It  was  appar- 
ently upon  this  visit  to  Wilton  that  the  brother  and  sister 
began  to  render  the  Psalms  of  David  into  various  lyrical 
metres.  After  the  Vulgate  and  the  Prayer-book  all  trans- 
lations of  the  Psalms,  even  those  done  by  Milton,  seem  tame 
and  awkward.  Nor  can  I  except  the  Sidneys  from  this 
criticism.  In  an  essay,  then,  which  must  of  necessity  be 
economical  of  space,  I  shall  omit  further  notice  of  this  ver- 
sion. The  opportunity,  however,  is  now  given  for  digress- 
ing from  Philip's  biography  to  the  consideration  of  his 
place  and  achievements  in  English  literature. 

It  is  of  importance  to  bear  steadily  in  inind  the  date  of 
Sidney's  birth  in  order  to  judge  correctly  of  his  relation  to 
predecessors  and  successors.  Wyatt,  Surrey,  Sackville,  and 


iv.]        THE  FRENCH  MATCH  AND  "THE  ARCADIA."         71 

Norton  had  already  acclimatised  Italian  forms  of  poetry 
and  classical  principles  of  metre  upon  English  soil.  But 
very  little  of  first-rate  excellence  can  be  referred  to  this  pe- 
riod of  our  Renaissance.  A  form  of  the  sonnet  peculiar 
to  English  literature,  and  blank  verse,  destined  to  become 
its  epic  and  dramatic  metre,  were  the  two  chief  results  of 
these  earliest  innovating  experiments.  Fulke  Greville,  him- 
self no  mean  poet,  was  born  in  1554,  the  same  year  as  Sid- 
ney ;  Raleigh  had  been  born  in  1552;  Spenser  and  Lyly 
in  1553  ;  Dray  ton  followed  in  1563  ;  Shakespeare  and  Mar- 
lowe in  1564;  Donne  not  till  1573,  and  Jonson  one  year 
later  yet;  Wyatt  and  Surrey  were  both  dead  some  while 
before  Sidney  saw  the  light ;  and  Sackville,  though  he  still 
lived,  was  not  much  occupied  with  literature.  It  will  there- 
fore be  seen  that  he  belonged  to  that  intermediate  group  of 
writers,  of  whom  Spenser  was  the  greatest,  and  who  pre- 
ceded the  brilliant  burst  of  genius  in  the  last  decade  of 
the  sixteenth  century.  It  was  as  the  morning  star  of  an 
unexampled  day  of  lyric  and  dramatic  splendour  that  his 
contemporaries  hailed  him. 

In  the  year  1578  Philip  attended  Queen  Elizabeth  on  one 
of  her  progresses  when  she  stayed  at  Audley  End,  and  there 
received  the  homage  of  some  Cambridge  scholars.  Among 
these  came  Gabriel  Harvey,  a  man  of  character  and  parts, 
but  of  no  distinguished  literary  talent.  He  was  what  we 
now  should  call  a  doctrinaire ;  yet  he  possessed  so  tough  a 
personality  as  to  exercise  considerable  influence  over  his 
contemporaries.  Harvey  enthusiastically  declared  himself 
for  the  remodelling  of  English  metres  on  the  classic  meth- 
od. The  notion  was  not  new.  Ascham,  in  the  School- 
master, pointed  out  "  how  our  English  tongue  in  avoiding 
barbarous  rhyming  may  as  well  receive  right  quantity  of 

syllables  and  true  order  of  versifying  as  cither  Greek  or 
32 


72  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

Latin,  if  a  cunning  man  have  it  in  handling."  He  quoted 
Bishop  Watson's  hexameters  in  proof  of  this  proposition: — 

"  All  travellers  do  gladly  report  great  praise  of  Ulysses 
For  that  he  knew  many  men's  manners  and  saw  many  cities." 

Yet  his  good  sense  saved  him  from  the  absurdities  into 
which  Stan}7 hurst,  the  translator  of  the  Aeneid,  fell  when 
he  attempted  Virgil  in  a  "  rude  and  beggarly  "  modern  im- 
itation of  the  Latin  rhythm.  Ascham  summed  the  ques- 
tion up  in  a  single  sentence,  prophetic  of  the  future  course 
of  English  versification.  "  Although  Carmen  Hexametrum 
doth  rather  trot  and  hobble  than  run  smoothly  in  our  Eng- 
lish tongue,  yet  I  am  sure  our  English  tongue  will  receive 
Carmen  lambicum  as  naturally  as  either  Greek  or  Latin." 
Harvey  was  not  so  finely  gifted  as  Ascham  to  perceive  the 
native  strength  and  weakness  of  our  language.  He  could 
see  no  reason  why  the  hexameter  should  not  flourish,  and 
wrote  verses,  which,  f or  grotesquencss,  may  pass  muster  with 
the  most  "  twitching  and  hopping  "  of  their  kind.  Robert 
Greene,  who  also  tried  his  hand  at  the  new  style,  composed 
smoother  but  more  insipid  numbers  in  the  eclogue  of  Alex- 
is. But  Harvey,  as  I  have  said,  exercised  the  influence  of 
an  imperious  personality ;  and  one  of  his  friends  was  Ed- 
mund Spenser.  Through  Harvey,  Sidney  became  acquaint- 
ed with  Spenser ;  and  it  is  well  known  that  the  latter  ded- 
icated The  Shepherd's  Calendar  to  him  in  1579.  The 
publication  was  anonymous.  The  dedication  ran  as  fol- 
lows : — "  To  the  noble  and  virtuous  gentleman,  most  worthy 
of  all  titles,  both  of  learning  and  chivalry,  Master  Philip 
Sidney."  The  envoy  opened  with  these  charming  trip- 
lets : — 

44  Go,  little  book !  thyself  present, 

As  child  whose  parent  is  unkent, 

To  him  that  is  the  president 


IY.]    THE  FRENCH  MATCH  AND  "  THE  ARCADIA."    73 

Of  nobleness  and  chivalry  ; 
And  if  that  envy  bark  at  thee, 
As  sure  it  will,  for  succour  flee 
Under  the  shadow  of  his  wing  ; 
And,  asked  who  thee  forth  did  bring, 
A  shepherd's  swain,  say,  did  thee  sing, 
All  as  hig  straying  flock  he  fed ; 
And  when  his  honour  has  thee  read 
Crave  pardon  for  thy  hardihead." 

In  the  midst,  then,  of  his  Court  life  Sidney  made  friends 
with  Harvey  and  with  Spenser.  He  associated  his  dearer 
intimates,  Fulke  Greville  and  Edward  Dyer,  in  the  same 
companionship.  And  thus  a  little  academy,  formed  ap- 
parently upon  the  Italian  model,  came  into  existence.  Its 
critical  tendency  was  indicated  by  the  name  Areopagus, 
given  it  perhaps  in  fun  by  Spenser;  and  its  practical  ob- 
ject was  the  reformation  of  English  poetry  upon  Italian 
and  classical  principles.  Unless  I  am  mistaken,  no  mem- 
ber of  the  club  applied  its  doctrines  so  thoroughly  in  prac- 
tice as  Sidney.  It  is  true  that  Harvey  wished  to  have  it 
inscribed  upon  his  grave  that  he  had  fostered  hexameters 
on  English  soil.  Bat  in  the  history  of  our  poetical  litera- 
ture Harvey  occupies  no  place  of  honor.  It  is  also  true 
that  Spenser  elaborated  some  lame  hexameters.  But  his 
genius  detected  the  imposture ;  he  wrote  to  Harvey,  point- 
ing out  the  insurmountable  difficulties  of  English  accent, 
and  laughing  at  the  metre  as  being  "either  like  a  lame 
gosling  that  draweth  up  one  leg  after,  or  like  a  lame  dog 
that  holdeth  one  leg  up." 

Sidney,  with  his  usual  seriousness,  took  the  search  after 
a  reformed  style  of  English  poetry  in  earnest.  He  made 
experiments  in  many  kinds  and  various  metres,  which  are 
now  preserved  to  us  embedded  in  the  text  of  his  Arcadia. 
Those  poems  form  the  most  solid  residuum  from  the  exer- 
4*  F 


74  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

cises  of  the  Areopagus.  They  are  not  very  valuable ;  but 
they  are  interesting  as  showing  what  the  literary  temper 
of  England  was,  before  the  publication  of  the  Faery  Queen 
and  the  overwhelming  series  of  the  romantic  dramas  de- 
cided the  fate  of  English  poetry.  Like  Gorboduc  and 
other  tragedies  in  the  manner  of  Seneca,  these  "  reformed 
verses  "were  doomed  to  be  annihilated  by  the  strong  blast 
of  the  national  genius.  But  they  have  their  importance 
for  the  student  of  crepuscular  intervals  between  the  dark- 
ness and  the  day-spring ;  and  it  must  not  be  forgotten  that 
their  author  did  not  intend  them  for  the  public  eye.  While 
studying  and  using  these  verses  as  documents  for  the  elu- 
cidation of  literary  evolution,  let  us  therefore  bear  in  mind 
that  we  are  guilty  of  an  indiscretion,  and  are  prying  on 
the  privacy  of  a  gentleman  who  never  sought  the  suffrage 
of  the  vulgar. 

It  was  at  Wilton,  then,  in  1580,  that  Sidney  began  the 
Arcadia  in  compliance  with  his  sister's  request.  The  dedi- 
catory epistle  teaches  us  in  what  spirit  we  ought  to  ap- 
proach the  pages  which  he  left  unfinished,  and  which  were 
given  to  the  press  after  his  decease: 

"Here  now  have  you,  most  dear,  and  most  worthy  to  be  most  dear 
lady,  this  idle  work  of  mine;  which,  I  fear,  like  the  spider's  web,  will 
be  thought  fitter  to  be  swept  away  than  worn  to  any  other  purpose. 
For  my  part,  in  very  truth,  as  the  cruel  fathers  among  the  Greeks 
were  wont  to  do  to  the  babes  they  would  not  foster,  I  could  well  find 
it  in  my  heart  to  cast  out  in  some  desert  of  forgetfulness  this  child 
which  I  am  loath  to  father.  But  you  desired  me  to  do  it,  and  your 
desire  to  my  heart  is  an  absolute  commandment.  Now  it  is  done 
only  for  you,  only  to  you.  If  you  keep  it  to  yourself,  or  to  such 
friends  who  will  weigh  error  in  the  balance  of  good-will,  I  hope  for 
the  father's  sake  it  will  be  pardoned,  perchance  made  much  of,  though 
in  itself  it  have  deformities.  For,  indeed,  for  severer  eyes  it  is  not, 
being  a  trifle,  and  that  triflingly  handled." 


iv.]        THE  FRENCH  MATCH  AND  "THE  ARCADIA."          75 

These  words  were  doubtless  penned  long  after  the  first 
sheets  of  the  Arcadia.  That  they  were  sincere  is  proved 
by  Sidney's  dying  request  to  have  the  manuscript  de- 
stroyed. He  goes  on  to  say  that  "  his  chief  safety  shall 
be  the  not  walking  abroad;  and  his  chief  protection  the 
using  of  your  name,  which,  if  much  good- will  do  not  de- 
ceive me,  is  worthy  to  be  a  sanctuary  for  a  greater  offend- 
er." We  have,  therefore,  the  strongest  possible  security 
that  this  famous  Arcadia  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  this  "  charm 
of  ages,"  as  Young  pompously  calls  it,  which  passed  through 
seventeen  editions  before  1674,  was  intended  by  its  author 
only  for  his  sister  and  a  friendly  circle.  Yet,  though  we 
must  approach  it  now  like  eavesdroppers,  we  may  read  in 
it,  better  perhaps  than  elsewhere,  those  tendencies  of  Eng- 
lish literature  which  were  swallowed  up  and  trampled  over 
by  the  legionaries  of  the  great  dramatic  epoch. 

It  is  not  improbable  that  Lyly's  Euphues,  which  first 
saw  the  light  in  1579,  suggested  to  Sidney  the  notion  of 
writing  a  romance  in  a  somewhat  similar  style.  He  did 
not,  however,  catch  the  infection  of  Lyly's  manner;  and 
the  Arcadia,  unlike  Euphues,  has  no  direct  didactic  pur- 
pose. Critics,  soon  after  its  appearance,  imagined  that  they 
could  discern  in  its  structure  hidden  references  to  the  main 
events  of  the  age.  But  this  may  be  considered  a  delusion, 
based  upon  the  prevalent  tendency  to  seek  allegories  in 
works  of  art  and  fancy  —  the  tendency  to  which  Tasso 
bowed  when  he  supplied  a  key  to  the  moralities  of  the 
Gerusalemme,  and  which  induced  Spenser  to  read  esoteric 
meanings  into  the  Orlando  Furioso.  Sidney  had  clearly 
in  mind  the  Arcadia  of  Sannazzaro ;  he  also  owed  much 
to  Montemayor's  Diana  and  the  Greek  romantic  novelists. 
The  style  at  first  is  noticeably  Italian,  as  will  appear  from 
certain  passages  I  mean  to  quote.  After  a  while  it  be- 


76  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

comes  less  idyllic  and  ornate,  and  at  last  it  merges  into  ra- 
pidity of  narration.  To  sustain  the  manner  of  the  earlier 
pages,  which  remind  us  of  Boccaccio  and  Sannazzaro, 
throughout  the  labyrinthine  intricacies  of  the  fable,  would 
have  been  tedious.  Perhaps,  too,  we  may  connect  the  al- 
teration of  literary  tone  with  Sidney's  departure  from 
Wilton  to  the  Court. 

I  shall  not  attempt  a  complete  analysis  of  the  Arcadia. 
The  main  story  is  comparatively  slender;  but  it  is  so  com- 
plicated by  digressions  and  episodes  that  a  full  account  of 
the  tangled  plot  would  take  up  too  much  space,  and  would 
undoubtedly  prove  wearisome  to  modern  readers.  Horace 
Walpole  was  not  far  wrong  when  he  asserted  that  "  the 
patience  of  a  young  virgin  in  love  cannot  now  wade 
through  "  that  jungle  of  pastoral,  sentimental,  and  heroical 
adventures.  A  brief  outline  of  the  tale,  together  with  some 
specimens  of  Sidney's  descriptive  and  sententious  styles, 
must,  however,  here  be  given,  since  it  is  not  very  likely 
that  any  readers  of  my  book  will  be  impelled  to  turn  the 
pages  of  the  original. 

^^Musidorus,  Prince  of  Thessalia,  and  Pyrocles,  Prince  of 
Macedon,  were  cousins.  An  affection,  such  as  bound  the 
knights  of  elder  Greek  romance  together,  united  them  even 
more  than  the  nearness  of  their  blood.  Pyrocles,  being  the 
elder,  taught  his  friend  all  that  he  knew  of  good,  and  brave, 
and  gracious.  Musidorus  learned  willingly ;  and  thus  the 
pair  grew  up  to  manhood  in  perfect  love,  twin  flowers  of 
gentleness  and  chivalry.  When  the  story  opens  the  two 
heroes  have  just  been  wrecked  on  the  Laconian  coast.  A 
couple  of  shepherds,  Claius  and  Strephon,  happened  to  be 
pacing  the  sea-shore  at  that  moment.  They  noticed  a  young 
man  floating  on  a  coffer,  which  the  waves  washed  gradually 
landward.  He  was  "of  so  goodly  shape  and  well-pleasing 


IV. J         THE  FKENCII  MATCH  AND  "THE  ARCADIA."  77 

favour  that  one  would  think  de/ith  had  in  him  a  lovely 
countenance ;  and  that,  though  he  were  naked,  nakedness 
was  to  him  an  apparel."  This  youth  proved  to  be  Musi- 
dorus.  Pyrocles  meanwhile  remained  upon  the  wreck; 
and,  while  the  shepherds  were  in  the  act  to  rescue  him,  he 
was  carried  off  by  pirates  under  the  eyes  of  his  sorrowing 
comrade.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  leave  him  to 
his  fate ;  and  Musidorus,  after  a  moment  of  wild  despair, 
yielded  to  the  exhortations  of  the  good  shepherds,  who 
persuaded  him  to  journey  with  them  to  the  house  of  a 
just  and  noble  gentleman  named  Kalander.  The  way 
was  long;  but,  after  two  days'  march,  it  brought  them 
to  Arcadia.  The  description  of  that  land  is  justly  cele- 
brated. 

"  The  third  day  after,  in  the  time  that  the  morning  did  strew  roses 
and  violets  in  the  heavenly  floor,  against  the  coming  of  the  sun,  the 
nightingales  (striving  one  with  the  other  which  could  in  most  dainty 
variety  recount  their  wrong-caused  sorrow)  made  them  put  off  their 
sleep ;  and  rising  from  under  a  tree  (which  that  night  had  been  their 
pavilion),  they  went  on  their  journey,  which  by-and-by  welcomed  Mu- 
sidorus's  eyes  (wearied  with  the  wasted  soil  of  Laconia)  with  delight- 
ful prospects.  There  were  hills  which  garnished  their  proud  heights 
with  stately  trees :  humble  vallies,  whose  base  estate  seemed  comfort- 
ed with  the  refreshing  of  silver  rivers :  meadows  enamelled  with  all 
sorts  of  eye-pleasing  flowers ;  thickets,  which  being  lined  with  most 
pleasant  shade  were  witnessed  so  too  by  the  cheerful  disposition  of 
many  well-tuned  birds ;  each  pasture  stored  with  sheep,  feeding  with 
sober  security,  while  the  pretty  lambs  with  bleating  outcry  craved  the 
dam's  comfort :  here  a  shepherd's  boy  piping,  as  though  he  should 
never  be  old  :  there  a  young  shepherdess  knitting,  and  withal  sing- 
ing ;  and  it  seemed  that  her  voice  comforted  her  hands  to  work,  and 
her  hands  kept  time  to  her  voice-music.  As  for  the  houses  of  the 
country  (for  many  houses  came  under  their  eye),  they  were  all  scat- 
tered, no  two  being  one  by  the  other,  and  yet  not  so  far  off  as  that  it 
barred  mutual  succour ;  a  show,  as  it  were,  of  an  accompanable  soli- 
tariness and  of  a  civil  wildness." 


78  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

In  due  course  of  time  they  arrived  at  the  house  of  Ka- 
lander,  where  Musidorus  was  hospitably  received. 

"  The  house  itself  was  built  of  fair  and  strong  stone,  not  affecting 
so  much  any  extraordinary  kind  of  fineness  as  an  honourable  repre- 
senting of  a  firm  stateliness."  "  The  servants  not  so  many  in  number 
as  cleanly  in  apparel  and  serviceable  in  behaviour,  testifying  even  in 
their  countenances  that  their  master  took  as  well  care  to  be  served  as 
of  them  that  did  serve." 

Perhaps  Sidney,  when  he  penned  these  sentences,  thought 
of  Penshurst.  At  any  rate  they  remind  us  of  Jonson's 
lines  upon  that  venerable  country  seat.  The  pleasance,  also, 
had  the  same  charm  of  homeliness  and  ancient  peace : — 

"  The  backside  of  the  house  was  neither  field,  garden,  nor  orchard  ; 
or  rather  it  was  both  field,  garden,  and  orchard :  for  as  soon  as  the 
descending  of  the  stairs  had  delivered  them  down,  they  came  into  a 
place  cunningly  set  with  trees  of  the  most  taste-pleasing  fruits :  but 
scarcely  had  they  taken  that  into  their  consideration,  but  that  they 
were  suddenly  stepped  into  a  delicate  green  ;  of  each  side  of  the  green 
a  thicket,  and  behind  the  thickets  again  new  beds  of  flowers,  which 
being  under  the  trees,  the  trees  were  to  them  a  pavilion,  and  they  to 
the  trees  a  mosaical  floor,  so  that  it  seemed  that  art  therein  would 
needs  be  delightful  by  counterfeiting  his  enemy  error  and  making  or- 
der in  confusion." 

Here  Musidorus  sojourned  some  while,  until  he  happened 
to  hear  that  his  host's  son,  Clitophon,  had  been  taken  pris- 
oner by  the  Helots,  who  were  now  in  revolt  against  their 
Laconian  masters.  Musidorus  begged  permission  to  go  to 
the  young  man's  rescue ;  and  when  he  reached  the  rebels, 
he  entered  their  walled  city  by  a  stratagem  and  began  a 
deadly  battle  in  the  market-place.  The  engagement  at  first 
was  general  between  the  Helots  and  the  Arcadians,  but  at 
length  it  resolved  itself  into  a  single  combat,  Musidorus  at- 
tacking the  leader  of  the  Helots  with  all  his  might.  This 


IY.]         THE  FRENCH  MATCH  AND  "THE  ARCADIA."          79 

duel  remained  for  some  time  equal  and  uncertain,  when 
suddenly  the  brigand  chief  threw  down  his  sword,  exclaim- 
ing, "  What !  hath  Palladius  forgotten  the  voice  of  Dai- 
phantus  ?"  It  should  here  be  said  that  Pyrocles  and  Musi- 
dorus  had  agreed  to  call  each  other  by  these  assumed  names. 
A  joyful  recognition  of  course  ensued.  Pyrocles  related 
the  series  of  events  by  which  he  had  been  forced  to  head 
the  rebels,  after  being  captured  by  them.  Clitophon  was 
released,  and  all  returned  together  to  Arcadia. 

At  this  point  the  love  intrigue,  which  forms  the  main 
interest  of  what  Milton  called  "  the  vain  amatorious  poem 
of  Sir  Philip  Sidney's  Arcadia"  begins  to  unfold  itself. 
An  eccentric  sovereign,  Basilius,  Prince  of  Arcadia,  was 
married  to  an  accomplished  and  beautiful  woman,  Gynecia. 
They  had  two  daughters,  Pamela  the  elder,  and  PLiloclca 
the  younger,  equally  matched  in  loveliness  of  mind  and 
person,  yet  differing  by  subtle  contrasts  of  their  incompa- 
rable qualities.  Basilius,  in  a  fit  of  jealousy  and  suspicion, 
had  left  his  palace,  and  was  now  residing  with  his  wife 
and  daughters  in  two  rustic  lodges,  deep-embowered  by  the 
forest.  Gynecia,  Philoclea,  and  himself  occupied  one  of 
these  retreats.  Pamela  dwelt  in  the  other,  under  the  care 
of  a  clownish  peasant  family,  consisting  of  Dametas,  his 
hideous  wife  Miso,  and  their  etill  more  odious  daughter 
Mopsa.  It  need  not  be  related  how  Musidorus  fell  in  love 
with  Pamela  and  Pyrocles  with  Philoclea.  In  order  to  be 
near  the  ladies  of  their  choice,  the  princes  now  assumed 
new  names  and  strange  disguises.  Pyrocles  donned  Ama- 
zon's attire  and  called  himself  Zelmane0  Musidorus  became 
a  shepherd  and  was  known  as  Dorus.  Both  contrived  to 
win  the  affections  of  the  princesses,  but  meanwhile  they 
got  entangled  in  embarrassing  and  dangerous  complications. 
Dorus  had  to  feign  love  for  the  disgusting  Mopsa-  Zel- 


80  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

mane  was  persecuted  by  the  passion  of  both  Basilius  and 
Gyneeia;  Basilius  deeming  him  a  woman,  Gynecia  recog- 
nising a  man  through  his  disguise.  When  Milton  con- 
demned the  Arcadia  as  "  a  book  in  that  kind  full  of  mirth 
and  witty,  but  among  religious  thoughts  and  duties  not 
worthy  to  be  named,  nor  to  be  read  at  any  time  without 
due  caution,"  he  was  assuredly  justified  by  the  unpleasant 
situation  created  for  Zelmane.  A  young  man,  travestied 
as  a  girl,  in  love  with  a  princess,  and  at  the  same  time  har- 
assed by  the  wanton  solicitations  of  both  her  father  and 
her  mother,  is,  to  say  the  least,  a  very  risky  subject  for  ro- 
mance. Yet  Sidney  treated  it  with  sufficient  delicacy,  and 
contrived  in  the  end  to  bring  both  Basilius  and  Gynecia  to 
their  senses.  u  Loathsomely  loved  and  dangerously  loving," 
Zelmane  remained  long  in  this  entanglement ;  but  when  he 
and  Philoclea  eventually  attained  their  felicity  in  marriage, 
both  of  them  concealed  Gynecia's  error.  And  she  "  did, 
in  the  remnant  of  her  life,  duly  purchase  [their  good  opin- 
ion] with  observing  all  duty  and  faith,  to  the  example  and 
glory  of  Greece ;  so  uncertain  are  mortal  judgments,  the 
same  person  most  infamous  and  most  famous,  and  neither 
justly." 

I  have  dwelt  on  this  part  of  the  story  because  it  antici- 
pates the  plots  of  many  Elizabethan  dramas  which  turned 
upon  confusions  of  sex,  and  to  which  the  custom  of  boys 

[acting  female  parts  lent  a  curious  complexity.  If  space 
allowed  I  might  also  follow  the  more  comic  fortunes  of 
Dorus,  and  show  how  the  tale  of  Amphialus  (another  lover 
of  Philoclea)  is  interwoven  with  that  of  Pyrocles  and  Musi- 
dorus.  This  subordinate  romance  introduces  one  of  the 
longest  episodes  of  the  work,  when  Cecropia,  the  wicked 
mother  of  Amphialus,  imprisons  Zelmane,  Philoclea,  and 
Pamela  together  in  her  castle.  It  is  during  this  imprison- 


iv.]        THE  FRENCH  MATCH  AND  "THE  ARCADIA."          81 

ment  that  Pamela  utters  the  prayer  made  famous  by  the 
fact  that  Charles  I.  is  supposed  to  have  used  it  just  before 
his  execution.  I  will  quote  it  here  at  length,  both  for  its 
beauty  of  style  and  for  the  sake  of  this  historical  associa- 
tion : — 

"  0  All-seeing  Light  and  Eternal  Life  of  all  things,  to  whom  noth- 
ing is  either  so  great  that  it  may  resist,  or  so  small  that  it  is  con- 
temned ;  look  upon  my  misery  with  Thine  eye  of  mercy,  and  let  Thine 
infinite  power  vouchsafe  to  limit  out  some  proportion  of  deliverance 
unto  me,  as  to  Thee  shall  seem  most  convenient.  Let  not  injury,  0 
Lord,  triumph  over  me,  and  let  my  faults  by  Thy  hand  be  corrected, 
and  make  not  mine  unjust  enemy  the  minister  of  Thy  justice.  But 
yet,  my  God,  if,  in  Thy  wisdom,  this  be  the  aptest  chastisement  for 
my  inexcusable  folly,  if  this  low  bondage  be  fitted  for  my  over  high 
desires,  if  the  pride  of  my  not  enough  humble  heart  be  thus  *to  be 
broken,  0  Lord,  I  yield  unto  Thy  will,  and  joyfully  embrace  what  sor- 
row Thou  wilt  have  me  suffer.  Only  thus  much  let  me  crave  of  Thee : 
let  my  craving,  0  Lord,  be  accepted  of  Thee,  since  even  that  proceeds 
from  Thee ;  let  me  crave,  even  by  the  noblest  title  which  in  my  great- 
est affliction  I  may  give  myself,  that  I  am  Thy  creature,  and  by  Thy 
goodness,  which  is  Thyself,  that  Thou  wilt  suifer  some  beam  of  Thy 
majesty  so  to  shine  into  my  mind  that  it  may  still  depend  confidently 
on  Thee.  Let  calamity  be  the  exercise,  but  not  the  overthrow  of  my 
virtue ;  let  their  power  prevail,  but  prevail  not  to  destruction.  Let 
my  greatness  be  their  prey;  let  my  pain  be  the  sweetness  of  their  re- 
venge; let  them,  if  so  it  seem  good  unto  Thee,  vex  me  with  more  and 
more  punishment ;  but,  0  Lord,  let  never  their  wickedness  have  such 
a  hand  but  that  I  may  carry  a  pure  mind  in  a  pure  body." 

Among  the  papers  given  to  Bishop  Juxon  by  Charles 
upon  the  scaffold  was  this  prayer,  slightly  altered  in  some 
particulars.  His  enemies  made  it  a  cause  of  reproach 
against  him,  especially  Milton,  in  a  memorable  passage  of 
"  Iconoclastes,"  from  which  I  have  already  quoted  certain 
phrases.  "  Who  would  have  imagined,"  writes  the  Latin 
secretary,  "  so  little  fear  in  him  of  the  true  all-seeing  Deity, 


82  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

so  little  reverence  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  whose  office  it  is  to 
dictate  and  present  our  Christian  prayers,  so  little  care  of 
truth  in  his  last  words,  or  honour  to  himself  or  to  his  friends, 
or  sense  of  his  afflictions,  or  that  sad  hour  which  was  upon 
him,  as  immediately  before  his  death  to  pop  into  the  hand 
of  that  grave  bishop  who  attended  him,  as  a  special  relique 
of  his  saintly  exercises,  a  prayer  stolen  word  for  word  from 
the  mouth  of  a  heathen  woman  praying  to  a  heathen  god; 
and  that  in  no  serious  book,  but  in  the  vain  amatorious 
poem  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney's  Arcadia?"  Charles'  defenders 
pointed  out  that  the  papers  given  to  Juxon  had  been  seized 
by  the  regicides,  and  accused  them  of  foisting  this  prayer 
in  on  purpose  to  have  the  opportunity  of  traducing  their 
victim  to  Puritan  England.  It  is  also  noticeable  that  it 
does  not  appear  in  the  first  edition  of  Eikon  Basilike,  nor 
in  Dr.  Earl's  Latin  version  of  that  book.  However  the  case 
may  be,  Dr.  Johnson  showed  good  sense  when  he  wrote: 
"  The  use  of  it  (the  prayer)  by  adaptation  was  innocent;  and 
they  who  could  so  noisily  censure  it,  with  a  little  extension 
of  their  malice  could  contrive  what  they  wanted  to  ac- 
cuse." 

Pamela's  prayer  has  led  me  so  far  away  from  the  intri- 
cacies of  Sidney's  Arcadia  that  I  shall  not  return  to  fur- 
ther analyses  of  the  fable.  The  chief  merits  of  the  book, 
as  a  whole,  seem  to  be  an  almost  inexhaustible  variety  of 
incidents,  fairly  correct  character-drawing,  purity  of  feeling, 
abundance  of  sententious  maxims,  and  great  richness  of 
colouring  in  the  descriptive  passages.  Its  immense  popu- 
larity may  be  ascribed  to  the  fact  that  nothing  exactly  like 
it  had  appeared  in  English  literature ;  for  Euphues  is  by 
no  means  so  romantically  interesting  or  so  varied  in  mate- 
rial, while  the  novels  of  Greene  are  both  shorter  and  more 
monotonous.  The  chivalrous  or  heroic  incidents  are  so 


iv.]    THE  FRENCH  MATCH  AND  «  THE  ARCADIA."    83 

well  combined  with  the  sentimental,  and  these  again  are  so 
prettily  set  against  the  pastoral  background,  that,  given  an 
appetite  for  romance  of  the  kind,  each  reader  found  some- 
thing to  stimulate  his  curiosity  and  to  provide  him  with 
amusement.  The  defects  of  the  Arcadia  are  apparent ;  as,  \ 
for  instance,  its  lack  of  humour,  the  extravagance  of  many  I 
of  its  situations,  the  whimsicality  of  its  conceits,  and  the ) 
want  of  solid  human  realism  in  its  portraits.  These  defects^ 
were,  however,  no  bar  to  its  popularity  in  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury ;  nor  would  they  count  as  such  at  present  were  it  not, 
as  Dr.  Zouch  pertinently  remarks,  that  "  the  taste,  the  man- 
ners, the  opinions,  the  language  of  the  English  nation,  have 
undergone  a  very  great  revolution  since  the  reign  of  Queen 
Elizabeth."  Such  a  revolution  condemns  all  works  which 
fascinated  a  bygone  age,  and  which  are  not  kept  alive  by 
humour  and  by  solid  human  realism,  to  ever-gradually-deep- 
ening oblivion. 

Before  concluding  this  chapter  there  is  another  point  of 
view  under  which  the  Arcadia  must  be  considered.     Sidney 
interspersed  its  prose  with  verses,  after  the  model  of  Sannaz-l 
zaro's  pastoral,  sometimes  introducing  them   as   occasion  ) 
suggested  into  the   mouths  of  his  chief  personages,  and 
sometimes  making  them  the  subject  of  poetical  disputes 
between  the  shepherds  of  the  happy  country.     Some  of 
these  poems  are  among  the  best  which  he  composed.     I 
would  cite  in  particular  the  beautiful  sonnet  which  begins 
and  ends  with  this  line :  "  My  true  love  hath  my  heart,  and  ] 
I  have  his ; "  and  another  opening  with — "  Beauty  hath ' 
force  to  catch  the  human  sight."     But  what  gives  special 
interest  to  the  verses  scattered  over  the  pages  of  Arcadia 
is  that  in  a  large  majority  of  them  Sidney  put  in  practice 
the  theories  of  the  Areopagus.      Thus  we  have  English 
hexameters,  elegiacs,  sapphics,  phaleuciacs  or  hendecasylla- 


84  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

bles,  asclcpiads,  and   anacreontics.      I   will    present   some 
specimens  of  each.     Here  then  are  hexameters : — • 

"  Lady  reserved  by  the  heavens  to  do  pastors'  company  honour, 
Joining  your  sweet  voice  to  the  rural  muse  of  a  desert, 
Here  you  fully  do  find  this  strange  operation  of  love, 
How  to  the  woods  love  runs  as  well  as  rides  to  the  palace  ; 
Neither  he  bears  reverence  to  a  prince,  nor  pity  to  beggar, 
But  (like  a  point  in  midst  of  a  circle)  is  still  of  a  nearness. 
All  to  a  lesson  he  draws,  neither  hills  nor  caves  can  avoid  him." 

One  elegiac  couplet  will  suffice : — 

"  Fortune,  Nature,  Love,  long  have  contended  about  me, 

Which  should  most  miseries  cast  on  a  worm  that  I  am." 

Nor  will  it  be  needful  to  quote  more  than   one  sapphic 
stanza : — 

"  If  mine  eyes  can  speak  to  do  hearty  errand, 
Or  mine  eyes'  language  she  do  hap  to  judge  of. 
So  that  eyes'  message  be  of  her  received, 
Hope,  we  do  live  yet." 

The  hendecasyllables,  though  comparatively  easy  to  write 
in  English,  hobble  in  a  very  painful  manner,  as  thus: — 

"  Reason,  tell  me  thy  mind,  if  here  be  reason, 
In  this  strange  violence  to  make  resistance, 
Where  sweet  graces  erect  the  stately  banner 
Of  virtue's  regiment,  shining  in  harness." 

So  do  the  asclepiads,  which,  however,  are  by  no  means  so 
easy  of  execution  : — 

"  0  sweet  woods,  the  delight  of  solitariness  I 
0  how  much  I  do  like  your  solitariness  1 
Where  man's  mind  hath  a  freed  consideration 
Of  goodness  to  receive  lovely  direction  ; 
Where  senses  do  behold  the  order  of  heavenly  host, 
And  wise  thoughts  do  behold  what  the  Creator  is." 


iv.]        THE  FRENCH  MATCH  AND  "THE  ARCADIA."          85 

The  anacreontics,  being  an  iambic  measure,  come  off 
somewhat  better,  as  may  be  judged  by  this  transcript  from 
a  famous  fragment  of  Sappho : — 

"  My  Muse,  what  ails  this  ardour  ? 
Mine  eyes  be  dim,  my  limbs  shake, 
My  voice  is  hoarse,  my  throat  scorched, 
My  tongue  to  this  my  roof  cleaves, 
My  fancy  amazed,  my  thoughts  dulled, 
My  heart  doth  ache,  my  life  faints, 
My  soul  begins  to  take  leave." 

It  is  obvious  from  these  quotations  that  what  the  school 
called  "our  rude  and  beggarly  rhyming"  is  not  only  more 
natural,  but  also  more  artistic  than  their  "  reformed  verse." 
Indeed,  it  may  be  said  without  reserve  that  Sidney's  ex- 
periments in  classical  metres  have  no  poetical  value  what- 
soever. They  are  only  interesting  as  survivals  from  an 
epoch  when  the  hexameter  seemed  to  have  an  equal  chance 
of  survival  with  the  decasyllabic  unrhymed  iambic.  The 
same  is  true  about  many  of  Sidney's  attempts  to  acclima- 
tise Italian  forms  of  verse.  Thus  we  find  embedded  in  the 
Arcadia  terza  rima  and  ottava  rima,  sestines  and  madrigals, 
a  canzone  in  which  the  end  of  each  line  rhymes  with  a 
syllable  in  the  middle  of  the  next.  So  conscientious  was 
he  in  tBe  attempt  to  reproduce  the  most  difficult  Italian 
metres  that  he  even  attempted  terza  rima  with  sdrucciolo 
or  trisyllabic  rhymes.  I  will  select  an  example : — 

"  If  sunny  beams  shame  heavenly  habitation, 
If  three-leaved  grass  seem  to  the  sheep  unsavory, 
Then  base  and  sore  is  Love's  most  high  vocation. 
Or  if  sheep's  cries  can  help  the  sun's  own  bravery, 
Then  may  I  hope  my  pipe  may  have  ability 
To  help  her  praise  who  decks  me  in  her  slavery." 

But  enough  of  this.     It  has  proved  a  difficult  task  to  in- 


86  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP.IV. 

troduce  terza  rirna  at  all  into  English  literature ;  to  make 
so  exceptionally  exacting  a  species  of  it  as  the  sdrucciolo 
at  all  attractive,  would  almost  be  beyond  the  powers  of  Mr. 
Swinburne.  The  octave,  as  handled  by  Sidney,  is  passable, 
as  will  appear  from  the  even  flow  of  this  stanza : — 

"  While  thus  they  ran  a  low  but  levelled  race, 
While  thus  they  lived  (this  was  indeed  a  life !) 
With  nature  pleased,  content  with  present  case, 
Free  of  proud  fears,  brave  beggary,  smiting  strife 
Of  clirne-f -\11  court,  the  envy-hatching  place, 
While  those  restless  desires  in  great  men  rife 
To  visit  folks  so  low  did  much  disdain, 
This  while,  though  poor,  they  in  themselves  did  reign." 

Of  the  sestines  I  will  not  speak.  That  form  has  always 
seemed  to  me  tedious  even  in  the  hands  of  the  most  ex- 
pert Italian  masters;  and  Sidney  was  not  the  sort  of  post 
to  add  grace  to  its  formality  by  any  sprightliness  of  treat- 
ment. It  should  be  noticed  that  some  of  the  songs  in  the 
Arcadia  are  put  into  the  mouth  of  a  sad  shepherd  who  is 
Sidney  himself.  Phillisides  (for  so  he  has  chosen  to  Latin- 
ise the  first  syllables  of  his  Christian  and  surnames)  ap- 
pears late  in  the  romance,  and  prepares  us  to  expect  the 
higher  poetry  of  Astrophel  and  Stella. 


CHAPTER  V. 

LIFE    AT    COURT    AGAIN,  AND    MARRIAGE. 

WHILE  Philip  was  in  retirement  at  Wilton  two  events  of 
interest  happened.  His  nephew,  William  Herbert,  saw  the 
light  upon  the  28th  of  April ;  and  Edmund  Spenser  left 
England  for  Ireland  as  secretary  to  the  new  Viceroy,  Lord 
Grey  of  Wilton.  The  birth  of  the  future  Earl  of  Pem- 
broke forcibly  reminds  us  of  Sidney's  position  in  the  his- 
tory of  English  literature.  This  baby  in  the  cradle  was 
destined  to  be  Shakespeare's  friend  and  patron ;  possibly 
also  to  inspire  the  sonnets  which  a  publisher  inscribed  in 
Shakespeare's  name  to  Master  W.  H.  We  are  wont  to  re- 
gard those  enigmatical  compositions  as  the  product  of 
Shakespeare's  still  uncertain  manhood.  But  William  Her- 
bert was  yet  a  child  when  his  uncle  Philip's  life-work  end- 
ed. Astrophel  and  Stella  had  circulated  among  its  au- 
thor's private  friends  for  at  least  four  years  when  Zutphen 
robbed  England  of  her  poet-hero.  At  that  date  little  Her- 
bert, for  whom  Shakespeare  subsequently  wrote  the  lines — 

"  Take  all  my  loves,  my  love,  yea,  take  them  all ; 
What  hast  thou  then  more  than  thou  hadst  before  ?" — 

this  little  Herbert  was  but  in  his  seventh  year. 

It  is  also  possible,  but  not  probable,  that,  while  Philip 

was  away  in  Wiltshire,  his  half-affianced  bride,  the  daugh- 
33 


88  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

ter  of  the  Earl  of  Essex,  gave  her  hand  to  another  suitor. 

'    O 

Her  guardian,  the  Earl  of  Huntingdon,  wrote  upon  the  10th 
of  March,  in  1580,  to  Lord  Burleigh,  that  he  considered 
Lord  Rich  "  a  proper  gentleman,  and  one  in  years  very  fit 
for  my  Lady  Penelope  Devereux,  if,  with  the  favour  and 
liking  of  her  Majesty,  the  matter  might  be  brought  to 
pass."  Lord  Rich  certainly  married  Penelope  Devereux ; 
but  whether  it  was  in  1580,  or  rather  in  1581,  admits  of 
discussion.  To  fix  the  exact  date  of  her  betrothal  is  a 
matter  of  some  moment.  I  must  therefore  point  out  that, 
at  that  time  in  England,  the  commencement  of  the  year 
dated  officially  from  March  25.  In  private  correspond- 
ence, however,  the  1st  of  January  had  already  begun  to 
mark  the  opening  of  a  new  year.  Privately,  then,  Lord 
Huntingdon's  letter  may  have  carried  the  date,  1580,  as  we 
understand  it;  but,  officially,  it  must  have  been  reckoned 
into  the  year  which  we  call  1581.  Now  this  letter  is  en- 
dorsed by  Burleigh  or  his  secretary,  officially,  under  the 
year  1580;  and,  therefore,  we  have  a  strong  presumption 
in  favour  of  Penelope's  not  having  been  engaged  to  Lord 
Rich  until  1581,  seeing  that  the  month  of  March  in  1580 
counted  then  for  our  month  of  March  in  1581.  When  I 
review  Astrophel  and  Stella  it  will  appear  that  I  do  not  at- 
tach very  great  importance  to  this  question  of  dates.  But 
I  think  it  safer,  on  the  evidence,  to  place  Stella's  marriage 
in  the  spring  or  summer  of  1581. 

Lord  Rich  was  the  son  of  the  Lord  Chancellor  of  Eng- 
land, who  had  lately  died,  bequeathing  to  his  heir  a  very 
substantial  estate,  and  a  large  portion  of  his  own  coarse 
temperament.  If  we  may  trust  the  Earl  of  Devonshire's 
emphatic  statement,  made  some  twenty-five  years  later  to 
King  James,  this  marriage  was  not  to  the  mind  of  the 
lady.  He  says  that  Penelope,  "  being  in  the  power  of  her 


v.]  LIFE  AT  COURT  AGAIN,  AND  MARRIAGE.  89 

friends,  was  married  against  her  will  unto  one  against 
whom  she  did  protest  at  the  solemnity  and  ever  after ;  be- 
tween whom,  from  the  very  first  day,  there  ensued  con- 
tinual discord,  although  the  same  fears  that  forced  her  to 
marry  constrained  her  to  live  with  him."  I  may  here  re- 
mind my  readers  of  her  subsequent  history.  During  her 
husband's  lifetime  she  left  him  and  became  the  mistress  of 
Sir  Charles  Blount,  to  whom  she  bore  three  children  out 
of  wedlock.  He  advanced  to  the  peerage  with  the  in- 
herited title  of  Lord  Mountjoy,  and  was  later  on  created 
Earl  of  Devonshire;  while  Lady  Rich,  in  spite  of  her 
questionable  conduct,  received,  by  patent,  the  dignity  and 
precedence  of  the  mo§t  ancient  Earldom  of  Essex.  Hav- 
ing been  divorced  from  Lord  Eich,  she  was  afterwards  at 
liberty  to  marry  her  lover;  and  in  1605  she  became  the 
Countess  of  Devonshire.  James  refused  to  countenance 
the  nuptials.  He  had  tolerated  the  previous  illicit  connec- 
tion. But  his  opinions  upon  divorce  made  him  regard  its 
legalisation  with  indignant  horror.  Stella  died  in  1607  a 
disgraced  woman,  her  rights  of  wifehood  and  widowhood 
remaining  unrecognised. 

In  the  course  of  the  summer  (1580),  Leicester  left  his 
retirement  and  returned  to  Court.  It  was  understood  that 
though  still  not  liking  the  French  match,  he  would  in  fut- 
ure offer  no  opposition  to  the  queen's  wishes ;  and  on  these 
terms  he  induced  Philip  also  to  make  his  peace  with  her 
Majesty.  We  find  him,  accordingly,  again  in  London  be- 
fore the  autumn.  Two  of  the  longest  private  letters  from 
his  pen  may  be  referred  to  this  period.  They  are  address- 
ed to  his  brother  Robert  Sidney,  who  afterwards  became 
Lord  Leicester.  This  young  man  was  then  upon  his  trav- 
els, spending  more  money  than  his  father's  distressed  cir- 
cumstances could  well  afford.  Philip  sent  him  supplies, 
5  G 


90  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

using  language  of  great  delicacy  and  warm  brotherly  affec- 
tion:  "For  the  money  you  have  received,  assure  yourself 
(for  it  is  true)  there  is  nothing  I  spend  so  please th  me,  as 
that  which  is  for  you.  If  ever  I  have  ability,  you  will  find 
it ;  if  not,  yet  shall  not  any  brother  living  be  better  beloved 
than  you  of  me."  "  For  £200  a  year,  assure  yourself,  if 
the  estates  of  England  remain,  you  shall  not  fail  of  it; 
use  it  to  your  best  profit."  Where  Philip  found  the 
money  may  be  wondered ;  but  that  he  gave  it  with  good 
grace  is  unquestionable.  Probably  he  received  more  from 
the  queen  in  allowances  than  we  are  aware  of;  for  he 
ranked  among  the  favoured  courtiers  then  known  as  "  pen- 
sioners." As  was  the  fashion  of  tfiose  times,  he  lectured 
his  brother  somewhat  pompously  on  how  to  use  the  op- 
portunities of  the  grand  tour.  Robert  was  constantly  to 
observe  the  "  virtue,  passion,  and  vices"  of  the  foreign 
countries  through  which  he  travelled. 

"  Even  in  the  Kingdom  of  China,  which  is  almost  as  far  as  the 
Antipodes  from  us,  their  good  laws  and  customs  are  to  be  learned ; 
but  to  know  their  riches  and  power  is  of  little  purpose  for  us,  since 
that  can  neither  advance  nor  hinder  us.  But  in  our  neighbouring 
countries,  both  these  things  are  to  be  marked,  as  well  the  latter, 
which  contain  things  for  themselves,  as  the  former,  which  seek  to 
know  both  those,  and  how  their  riches  and  power  may  be  to  us  avail- 
able, or  otherwise.  The  countries  fittest  for  both  these  are  those  you 
are  going  into.  France  is  above  all  other  most  needful  for  us  to 
mark,  especially  in  the  former  kind ;  next  is  Spain  and  the  Low 
Countries ;  then  Germany,  which  in  my  opinion  excels  all  others  as 
much  in  the  latter  consideration,  as  the  other  doth  in  the  former,  yet 
neither  are  void  of  neither  ;  for  as  Germany,  methinks,  doth  excel  in 
good  laws,  and  well  administering  of  justice,  so  are  we  likewise  to 
consider  in  it  the  many  princes  with  whom  we  may  have  league,  the 
places  of  trade,  and  means  to  draw  both  soldiers  and  furniture  thence 
in  time  of  need.  So  on  the  other  side,  as  in  France  and  Spain,  we  are 
principally  to  mark  how  they  stand  towards  us  both  in  power  and  in- 


v.]  LIFE  AT  COURT  AGAIN,  AND  MARRIAGE.  91 

clination  ;  so  arc  they  not  without  good  and  fitting  use,  even  in  the 
generality  of  wisdom  to  be  known.  As  in  France,  the  courts  of  par- 
liament, their  subaltern  jurisdiction,  and  their  continual  keeping  of 
paid  soldiers.  In  Spain,  their  good  and  grave  proceedings;  their 
keeping  so  many  provinces  under  them,  and  by  what  manner,  with 
the  true  points  of  honour ;  wherein  since  they  have  the  most  open 
conceit,  if  they  seem  over  curious,  it  is  an  easy  matter  to  cut  off  when 
a  man  sees  the  bottom.  Flanders  likewise,  besides  the  neighbourhood 
with  us,  and  the  annexed  considerations  thereunto,  hath  divers  things 
to  be  learned,  especially  their  governing  their  merchants  and  other 
trades.  Also  for  Italy,  we  knew  not  what  we  have,  or  can  have,  to 
do  with  them,  but  to  buy  their  silks  and  wines ;  and  as  for  the  other 
point,  except  Venice,  whose  good  laws  and  customs  we  can  hardly 
proportion  to  ourselves,  because  they  are  quite  of  a  contrary  gov- 
ernment ;  there  is  little  there  but  tyrannous  oppression,  and  ser- 
vile yielding  to  them  that  have  little  or  no  right  over  them.  And 
for  the  men  you  shall  have  there,  although  indeed  some  be  excel- 
lently learned,  yet  are  they  all  given  to  counterfeit  learning,  as  a 
man  shall  learn  among  them  more  false  grounds  of  things  than  in 
any  place  else  that  I  know ;  for  from  a  tapster  upwards,  they  are  all 
discoursers  in  certain  matters  and  qualities,  as  horsemanship,  weap- 
ons, painting,  and  such  are  better  there  than  in  other  countries ;  but 
for  other  matters,  as  well,  if  not  better,  you  shall  have  them  in  near- 
er places." 

The  second  of  the  two  epistles  (dated  from  Leicester 
House,  Oct.  18,  1580)  COD  tains  more  personal  matter. 
"  Look  to  your  diet?  sweet  Robin,"  he  says,  "  and  hold  up 
your  heart  in  courage  and  virtue ;  truly  great  part  of  my 
comfort  is  in  you."  And  again :  "  Now,  sweet  brother,  take 
a  delight  to  keep  and  increase  your  music;  you  will  not 
believe  what  a  want  I  find  of  it  in  my  melancholy  times." 
It  appears,  then,  that  Philip,  unlike  many  gentlemen  of 
that  age,  could  not  touch  the  lute  or  teach  the  "  saucy 
jacks"  of  the  virginal  to  leap  in  measure.  Then  follows 
another  bit  of  playful  exhortation :  "  I  would  by  the  way 
your  worship  would  learn  a  better  hand ;  you  write  worse 


92  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

than  I,  and  I  write  evil  enough ;  once  again  have  a  care  of 
your  diet,  and  consequently  of  your  complexion ;  remem- 
ber Gratior  est  veniens  in pulchro  corpore  virtus"  If  Ben 
Jonson  was  right  in  what  he  said  of  Philip's  complexion, 
this  advice  had  its  ground  in  tiresome  experience.  On  the 
subject  of  manly  exefcises  he  has  also  much  to  say  :  "  At 
horsemanship,  when  you  exercise  it,  read  Orison  Claudio, 
and  a  book  that  is  called  La  Gloria  del  Cavallo,  withal 
that  you  may  join  the  thorough  contemplation  of  it  with 
the  exercise ;  and  so  shall  you  profit  more  in  a  month  than 
others  in  a  year;  and  mark  the  biting,  saddling,  and  cur- 
ing of  horses." 


, 

"  When  you  play  at  weapons,  I  would  have  you  get  thick  caps 
and  brasers,  and  play  out  your  play  lustily,  for  indeed  ticks  and  dal 
liances  are  nothing  in  earnest,  for  the  time  of  the  one  and  the  other 
greatly  qliffers ;  and  usi  as  well  the  blow  as  the  thrust ;  it  is  good 
in  itselfj  and  besides  e£erciseth  your  breath  and  strength,  and  will 
make  you  a  strong  mail  at  the  tourney  and  barriers.  First,  in  any 
case  practise  the  single  sword,  and  then  with  the  dagger ;  let  no  dajf 
pass  without  an  hour  or  two  such  exercise  ;  the  rest  study,  or  confe^ 
diligently,  and  so  shall  you  come  home  to  my  comfort  and  credit." 

Studies  come  in  for  their  due  share  of  attention.  "  Take 
delight  likewise  in  the  rnathernaticals ;  Mr.  Savile  is  excel- 
lent in  them.  I  think  you  understand  the  sphere ;  if  you 
do,  I  care  little  for  any  more  astronomy  in  you.  Arithme- 
tic and  geometry  I  would  wish  you  were  well  seen  in,  so  as 
both  in  matters  of  number  and  measure  you  might  have  a 
feeling  and  active  judgment.  I  would  you  did  bear  the 
mechanical  instruments,  wherein  the  Dutch  excel."  It  may 
be  said  with  reference  to  this  paragraph  that  Mr.  Savile 
was  Robert  Sidney's  travelling  governor.  The  sphere  rep- 
resented medieval  astronomy.  Based  upon  the  traditional 
interpretation  of  the  Ptolemaic  doctrine,  it  lent  itself  to 


V.]  LIFE  AT  COURT  AGAIN,  AND  MARRIAGE.  93 

theoretical  disquisitions  upon  cosmology  in  general,  as  well 
as  to  abstruse  speculations  regarding  the  locality  of  para- 
dise and  heaven,  the  elements,  and  superhuman  existences. 
On  the  point  of  style  Philip  observes:  "So  you  can  speak 
and  write  Latin,  not  barbarously,  I  never  require  great  study 
in  Ciceronianism,  the  chief  abuse  of  Oxford,  qui  dum  verba 
sectantur  res  ipsas  negligunt"  History  being  Robert  Sid- 
ney's favourite  study,  his  brother  discourses  on  it  more  at 
large. 

I  have  quoted  thus  liberally  from  Philip's  letters  to  Rob- 
ert Sidney,  because  of  the  agreeable  light  they  cast  upon 
his  character.  It  is  clear  they  were  not  penned  for  perusal 
by  the  public.  "  My  eyes  are  almost  closed  up,  overwatched 
with  tedious  business,"  says  the  writer;  and  his  last  words 
are,  "  Lord !  how  I  have  babbled."  Yet,  though  hastily 
put  together,  and  somewhat  incoherently  expressed,  the 
thoughts  are  of  excellent  pith ;  and  one  passage  upon  his- 
tory, in  particular,  reads  like  a  rough  sketch  for  part  of  the 
"Defence  of  Poesy." 

After  weighing  the  unaffected  words  of  brotherly  coun- 
sel and  of  affectionate  interest  which  Philip  sent  across 
the  sea  to  Robert,  we  are  prepared  for  Sir  Henry  Sidney's 
warm  panegyric  of  his  first-born  to  his  second  son.  He 
had  indeed  good  hopes  of  Robert;  but  he  built  more  on 
Philip,  as  appears  from  the  following  sentence  in  a  letter 
to  Sir  Francis  Walsingbam  :  "  I  having  three  sons,  one  of 
excellent  good  proof,  the  second  of  great  good  proof,  and 
the  third  not  to  be  despaired  of,  but  very  well  to  be  liked." 
Therefore  he  frequently  exhorted  Robert  to  imitate  the 
qualities  of  his  "  best  brother."  "  Perge,  perge,  my  Robin, 
in  the  filial  fear  of  God,  and  in  the  meanest  imagination  of 
yourself,  and  to  the  loving  direction  of  your  most  loving 
brother.  Imitate  his  virtues,  exercises,  studies,  and  actions. 


94  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 


He  is  the  rare  ornament  of  this  age,  the  very  fornrularjbhat 
aTPweli  disposed  yonbg  gentlemen  of  our  Court  do  form 
also  their  manners  and  life  by.  In  truth  I  speak  it  with- 
out flattery  of  him  or"  of  "myself  ;  he  hath  the  most  rare 
virtues  that  ever  I  found  in  any  man.  Once  again  I  say 
imitate  him."  And  once  more,  at  a  later  date:  "Follow 
your  discreet  and  virtuous  brother's  rule,  who  with  great 
discretion,  to  his  great  commendation,  won  love,  and  could 
variously  ply  ceremony  with  ceremony." 

The  last  extant  letter  of  Languet  to  Philip  was  written 
in  October  of  this  year.  The  old  man  congratulates  his 
friend  upon  returning  to  the  Court;  but  he  adds  a  solemn 
warning  against  its  idleness  and  dissipations.  Familiarity 
with  English  affairs  confirmed  his  bad  opinion  of  Eliza- 
beth's Court  circle.  He  saw  that  she  was  arbitrary  in  her 
distribution  of  wealth  and  honours  ;  he  feared  lest  Philip's 
merits  should  be  ignored,  while  some  more  worthless  fa- 
vourite was  being  pampered.  Once  he  had  hoped  that 
his  service  of  the  queen  would  speedily  advance  him  to 
employment  in  public  affairs.  Now  he  recognised  the  pos- 
sibility of  that  young  hopeful  life  being  wasted  upon  for- 
malities and  pastimes;  and  for  England  he  prophesied  a 
coming  time  of  factions,  complicated  by  serious  foreign 
troubles.  It  is  the  letter  of  a  saddened  man,  slowly  de- 
clining towards  the  grave,  amid  forebodings  which  the  im- 
mediate future  of  Europe  only  too  well  justified.  Languet 
had  now  just  eleven  months  more  to  live.  He  died  in 
September  1581  at  Antwerp,  nursed  through  his  last  ill- 
ness by  the  wife  of  his  noble  friend  Philip  du  Plessis  Mor- 
nay,  and  followed  to  the  tomb  by  William,  Prince  of 
Orange.  Among  the  poems  given  to  Phillisides  in  the  Ar- 
cadia is  one  which  may  perhaps  have  been  written  about 
the  time  when  Languet's  death  had  brought  to  Philip's 


v.]  LIFE  AT  COURT  AGAIN,  AND  MARRIAGE.  95 

memory  the  debt  of  gratitude  he  owed  this  faithful  coun- 
sellor : — 

"  The  song  I  sang  old  Languet  had  me  taught, 

Languet  the  shepherd  best  swift  Ister  knew 
For  clerkly  reed,  and  hating  what  is  naught, 

For  faithful  heart,  clean  hands,  and  mouth  as  true ; 
With  his  sweet  skill  my  skilless  youth  he  drew 
To  have  a  feeling  taste  of  Him  that  sits 
Beyond  the  heaven,  far  more  beyond  our  wits. 

"  He  said  the  music  best  thilk  powers  pleased 

Was  sweet  accord  between  our  wit  and  will, 
Where  highest  notes  to  godliness  are  raised, 
And  lowest  sink  not  down  to  jot  of  ill ; 
With  old  true  tales  he  wont  mine  ears  to  fill, 
How  shepherds  did  of  yore,  how  now  they  thrive, 
Spoiling  their  flocks,  or  while  'twixt  them  they  strive. 

"  He  liked  me,  but  pitied  lustful  youth  ; 

His  good  strong  staff  my  slippery  years  upbore ; 
He  still  hoped  well  because  I  loved  truth ; 

Till  forced  to  part,  with  heart  and  eyes  even  sore, 
To  worthy  Corydon  he  gave  me  o'er." 

On  New  Year's  Day,  1581,  Philip  presented  the  queen 
with  a  heart  of  gold,  a  chain  of  gold,  and  a  whip  with  a 
golden  handle.  These  gifts  symbolised  his  devotion  to  her, 
and  her  right  to  chastise  him.  The  year  is  marked  in  his 
biography  by  his  first  entrance  into  Parliament,  as  knight 
of  the  shire  for  Kent.  He  only  sat  two  months  ;  but  dur- 
ing that  short  period  he  joined  the  committees  appointed 
to  frame  rules  for  enforcing  laws  against  Catholics,  and  for 
suppressing  seditious  practices  by  word  or  deed  against  her 
Majesty.  The  French  match  was  still  uppermost  in  Eliza- 
beth's mind.  She  hankered  after  it ;  and  some  of  the 
wisest  heads  in  Europe,  among  them  William  the  Silent, 


96  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP 

approved  of  the  project.  Yet  she  was  unable  to  decide 
The  Duke  of  Anjou  had  raised  questions  as  to  the  evenfr 
uality  of  England  becoming  dependent  on  the  French 
Crown ;  which  it  might  have  been,  if  he  had  married  the 
Queen,  and  succeeded  to  his  childless  brother.  This  made 
her  pause  and  reflect.  She  was,  moreover,  debating  the 
scheme  of  an  alliance  with  Henri  III.  against  Spain.  Be- 
tween the  two  plans  her  mind  wavered.  As  Walsingharn 
wrote  to  Burleigh :  "  When  her  Majesty  is  pressed  to  the 
marriage,  then  she  seemeth  to  effect  a  league ;  and  when 
the  league  is  yielded  to,  then  she  liketh  better  a  marriage; 
and  when  thereupon  she  is  moved  to  assent  to  marriage, 
then  she  hath  recourse  to  the  league ;  and  when  the  mo- 
tion is  for  the  league,  or  any  request  is  made  for  money, 
then  her  Majesty  returneth  to  the  marriage." 

These  hesitations  seem  to  have  been  augmented  by  the 
urgency  of  the  French  Court.  On  the  16th  of  April  Fran- 
cis of  Bourbon  arrived  from  Paris  at  the  head  of  a  mag- 
nificent embassy,  with  the  avowed  object  of  settling  pre- 
liminaries. They  were  received  with  due  honour  by  the 
principal  nobles  of  Elizabeth's  Court,  all  open  opposition 
to  the  marriage  having  now  been  withdrawn  by  common 
consent.  Among  the  entertainments  provided  for  the  en- 
voys during  their  sojourn  in  London,  Philip  played  a  con- 
spicuous part.  Together  with  the  Earl  of  Arundel,  Lord 
Windsor,  and  Fulke  Greville,  he  prepared  a  brilliant  display 
of  chivalry.  Calling  themselves  the  Four  Foster  Children 
of  Desire,  they  pledged  their  word  to  attack  and  win,  if 
possible,  by  force  of  arms,  the  Fortress  of  Perfect  Beauty. 
This  fort,  which  was  understood  to  be  the  allegorical  abode 
of  the  queen,  was  erected  in  the  Tilt  Yard  at  Whitehall. 
Seven  times  the  number  of  the  challengers,  young  gentle- 
men of  knightly  prowess,  offered  themselves  as  defenders 


v.]  LIFE  AT  COURT  AGAIN,  AND  MARRIAGE.  97 

of  the  fortress ;  and  it  was  quite  clear  from  the  first  how 
the  tournament  would  end.  This  foregone  conclusion  did 
not,  however,  mar  the  sport ;  and  the  compliment  intended 
to  Elizabeth  would  have  been  spoiled,  if  the  Foster  Chil- 
dren of  Desire  could  have  forced  their  way  into  her  Castle 
of  Beauty.  The  assault  upon  the  Fortress  of  Perfect  Beau- 
ty began  on  the  15th  of  May  and  was  continued  on  the 
16th,  when  the  challengers  acknowledged  their  defeat. 
They  submitted  their  capitulation  to  the  queen,  by  the 
mouth  of  a  lad,  attired  in  ash-coloured  clothes,  and  bear- 
ing an  olive-branch.  From  the  detailed  accounts  which 
survive  of  the  event,  I  will  only  transcribe  what  serves  to 
bring  Philip  Sidney  and  his  train  before  us.  The  passage 
describes  his  entrance  on  the  first  day  of  the  lists : — 

"  Then  proceeded  Master  Philip  Sidney  in  very  sumptuous  manner, 
with  armour,  part  blue  and  the  rest  gilt  and  engraven,  with  four 
spare  horses,  having  caparisons  and  furniture  very  rich  and  costly, 
as  some  of  cloth  of  gold  embroidered  with  pearl,  and  some  embroid- 
ered with  gold  and  silver  feathers,  very  richly  and  cunningly  wrought. 
He  had  four  pages  that  rode  on  his  four  spare  horses,  who  had  cas- 
sock coats  and  Venetian  hose,  all  of  cloth  of  silver,  laied  with  gold 
lace,  and  hats  of  the  same  with  gold  bands  and  white  feathers,  and 
each  one  a  pair  of  white  buskins.  Then  had  he  thirty  gentlemen 
and  yeomen,  and  four  trumpeters,  who  were  all  in  cassock  coats  and 
Venetian  hose  of  yellow  velvet  laied  with  silver  lace,  yellow  velvet 
caps  with  silver  bands  and  white  feathers,  and  every  one  a  pair  of 
white  buskins  ;  and  they  had  upon  their  coats  a  scroll  or  band  of 
silver,  which  came  scarf-wise  over  the  shoulder,  and  so  down  under 
the  arm,  with  this  posy  or  sentence  written  upon  it,  both  before  and 
behind :  /Sic  nos  non  nobis" 

It  behoves  us  not  to  ask,  but  we  cannot  help  wondering, 
where  the  money  came  from  for  this  costly  show.     Proba- 
bly Philip  was  getting  into  debt.     His  appeals  to  friends 
with  patronage  at  their  disposal  became  urgent  during  the 
5* 


98  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

ensuing  months.  Though  he  obtained  no  post  which  com- 
bined public  duties  with  pay,  a  sinecure  worth  £120  a  year 
was  given  him.  It  must  be  said  to  his  credit  that  he  did 
not  so  much  desire  unearned  money  as  some  lucrative  ap- 
pointment, entailing  labour  and  responsibility.  This  the 
queen  would  not  grant;  even  an  application  made  by  him 
so  late  as  the  summer  of  1583,  begging  for  employment 
at  the  Ordnance  under  his  uncle  Warwick,  was  refused. 
Meanwhile  his  European  reputation  brought  invitations, 
which  prudence  bade  him  reject.  One  of  these  arrived 
from  Don  Antonio  of  Portugal,  a  bastard  pretender  to  that 
kingdom,  calling  upon  Philip  Sidney  to  join  his  forces. 
The  life  at  Court,  onerous  by  reason  of  its  expenditure, 
tedious  through  indolence  and  hope  deferred,  sweetened 
chiefly  by  the  companionship  of  Greville  and  Dyer,  wore 
tiresomely  on.  And  over  all  these  months  wavered  the 
fascinating  vision  of  Stella,  now  a  wife,  to  whom  Phillisides 
was  paying  ardent  homage.  It  may  well  be  called  a  dan- 
gerous passage  in  his  short  life,  the  import  of  which  we 
shall  have  to  fathom  when  we  take  up  Astrophel  and  Stella 
for  perusal.  Courtly  monotony  had  its  distractions.  The 
French  match,  for  instance,  afforded  matter  for  curiosity 
and  mild  excitement.  This  reached  its  climax  when  the 
Duke  of  Anjou  arrived  in  person.  He  came  in  November, 
and  stayed  three  months.  When  he  left  England  in  Feb- 
ruary 1582,  the  world  knew  that  this  project  of  a'marriage 
for  Elizabeth  was  at  an  end.  Sidney,  with  the  flower  of 
English  aristocracy,  attended  the  French  prince  to  Antwerp. 
There  he  was  proclaimed  Duke  of  Brabant,  and  welcomed 
with  shows  of  fantastic  magnificence.  We  may  dismiss 
all  further  notice  of  him  from  the  present  work,  with  the 
mention  of  his  death  in  1584.  It  happened  on  the  first 
of  June,  preceding  the  Prince  of  Orange's  assassination  by 


V.]  LIFE  AT  COURT  AGAIN,  AND  MARRIAGE.  99 

just  one  month.  People  thought  that  Anjou  also  had  been 
murdered. 

The  greater  part  of  the  year  1582  is  a  blank  in  Philip's 
biography.  We  only  know  that  he  was  frequently  absent 
from  the  Court,  and  in  attendance  on  his  father.  Sir  Hen- 
ry Sidney's  affairs  were  seriously  involved.  The  Crown 
refused  him  substantial  aid,  and  kept  him  to  his  post  at 
Ludlow  Castle.  Yet,  at  the  beginning  of  1583,  we  find 
Philip  again  in  waiting  on  the  queen ;  presenting  her  with 
a  golden  flower-pot,  and  receiving  the  gracious  gift  of  a 
lock  of  the  royal  virgin's  hair.  In  January  Prince  Casitnir 
had  to  be  installed  Knight  of  the  Garter.  Philip  was 
chosen  as  his  proxy,  and  obtained  the  honour  of  knighthood 
for  himself.  Henceforward  he  takes  rank  as  Sir  Philip 
Sidney  of  Penshurst. 

Never  thoroughly  at  ease  in  courtly  idleness,  Philip 
formed  the  habit  of  turning  his  eyes  westward,  across  the 
ocean,  towards  those  new  continents  where  wealth  and 
boundless  opportunities  of  action  lay  ready  for  adventurous 
knights.  Frobisher's  supposed  discovery  of  gold  in  1577 
drew  an  enthusiastic  letter  from  him.  In  1578  he  was 
meditating  some  "Indian  project."  In  1580  he  wrote 
wistfully  to  his  brother  Robert  about  Drake's  return,  "  of 
which  yet  I  know  not  the  secret  points;  but  about  the 
world  he  hath  been,  and  rich  he  is  returned."  In  1582 
his  college  friend,  Richard  Hakluyt,  inscribed  the  first  col- 
lection of  his  Voyages  with  Sidney's  name.  All  things 
pointed  in  the  direction  of  his  quitting  England  for  the 
New  World,  if  a  suitable  occasion  should  present  itself, 
and  if  the  queen  should  grant  him  her  consent.  During 
the  spring  of  1583  projects  for  colonisation,  or  plantation 
as  it  then  was  termed,  were  afloat  among  the  west  country 
gentlefolk.  Sir  Humphrey  Gilbert  and  his  half -brothel 


100  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

Walter  Raleigh,  with  Sir  George  Peckham  and  others, 
thought  of  renewing  the  attempts  they  had  already  made 
in  1578.  Elizabeth  in  that  year  had  signed  her  first  char- 
ter of  lands  to  be  explored  beyond  the  seas,  in  favour  of 
Sir  Humphrey  Gilbert ;  and  now  she  gave  a  second  to  Sir 
Philip  Sidney.  It  licensed  and  authorised  him 

"  To  discover,  search,  find  out,  view,  and  inhabit  certain  parts  of 
America  not  yet  discovered,  and  out  of  those  countries  by  him,  his 
heirs,  factors,  or  assignees,  to  have  and  enjoy,  to  him,  his  heirs,  and 
assignees  for  ever,  such  and  so  much  quantity  of  ground  as  shall 
amount  to  the  number  of  thirty  hundred  thousand  acres  of  ground 
and  wood,  with  all  commodities,  jurisdictions,  and  royalties,  both  by 
sea  and  land,  with  full  power  and  authority  that  it  should  and  might 
be  lawful  for  the  said  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  his  heirs  and  assignees,  at 
all  times  thereafter  to  have,  take,  and  lead  in  the  same  voyage,  to 
travel  thitherwards  or  to  inhabit  there  with  him  or  them,  and  every 
or  any  of  them,  such  and  so  many  her  Majesty's  subjects  as  should 
willingly  accompany  him  and  them  and  every  or  any  of  them,  with 
sufficient  shipping  and  furniture  for  their  transportation." 

In  other  words,  her  Majesty  granted  to  Sir  Philip  Sidney 
the  pretty  little  estate  of  three  millions  of  acres  in  North 
America.  It  is  true  that  the  land  existed,  so  to  say,  in  nu- 
bibus,  and  was  by  no  "means  sure  to  prove  an  El  Dorado. 
It  was  far  more  sure  that  if  the  grantee  got  possession  of 
it,  he  would  have  to  hold  it  by  his  own  strength ;  for  Brit- 
ain, at  this  epoch,  was  not  pledged  to  support  her  colonies. 
Yet  considering  the  present  value  of  the  soil  in  Virginia 
or  New  England,  the  mere  fantastic  row  of  seven  figures 
in  American  acres,  so  lightly  signed  away  by  her  Majesty, 
is  enough  to  intoxicate  the  imagination.  How  Philip 
managed  to  extort  or  wheedle  this  charter  from  Elizabeth 
we  have  no  means  of  knowing.  She  was  exceedingly  jeal- 
ous of  her  courtiers,  and  would  not  willingly  lose  sight  of 


v.]  LIFE  AT  COURT  AGAIN,  AND  MARRIAGE.  101 

them.  When  Philip  two  years  later  engaged  himself  in  a 
colonising  expedition,  we  shall  see  that  she  positively  for- 
bade him  to  leave  England.  Now,  however,  it  is  probable 
she  knew  that  he  could  not  take  action  on  her  gift.  She 
was  merely  bestowing  an  interest  in  speculations  which 
cost  her  nothing  and  might  bring  him  profit.  At  any  rate, 
the  matter  took  this  turn.  In  July  1583  he  executed  a 
deed  relinquishing  30,000  acres,  together  with  "all  royal- 
ties, titles,  pre-eminences,  privileges,  liberties,  and  dignities," 
which  the  queen's  grant  carried,  to  his  friend  Sir  George 
Peckham. 

The  reason  of  this  act  of  resignation  was  that  Philip 
had  pledged  his  hand  in  marriage  to  Frances,  daughter  of 
Sir  Francis  Walsingham.  So  far  back  as  December  1581 
there  are  indications  that  his  friendship  with  Walsingham 
and  his  family  was  ripening  into  something  more  intimate. 
We  do  not  know  the  date  of  his  marriage  for  certain ;  but 
it  is  probable  that  he  was  already  a  husband  before  the 
month  of  July. 

A  long  letter  addressed  in  March  1583  by  Sir  Henry 
Sidney  to  Walsingham  must  here  be  used,  since  it  throws 
the  strongest  light  upon  the  circumstances  of  the  Sid- 
ney family,  and  illustrates  Sir  Henry's  feeling  with  regard 
to  his  son's  marriage.  The  somewhat  discontented  tone 
which  marks  its  opening  is,  I  think,  rather  apologetical 
than  regretful.  Sir  Henry  felt  that,  on  both  sides,  the 
marriage  was  hardly  a  prudent  one.  He  had  expected 
some  substantial  assistance  from  the  Crown  through  Wal- 
singham's  mediation.  This  had  not  been  granted ;  and  he 
took  the  opportunity  of  again  laying  a  succinct  report  of 
his  past  services  and  present  necessities  before  the  secreta- 
ry of  state,  in  the  hope  that  something  might  yet  be  done 
to  help  him.  The  document  opens  as  follows : — 


102  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

"  DEAR  SIR — I  have  understood  of  late  that  coldness  is  thought  in 
me  in  proceeding  in  the  matter  of  marriage  of  our  children.  In 
truth,  sir,  it  is  not  so,  nor  so  shall  it  ever  be  found ;  for  compremit- 
ting  the  consideration  of  the  articles  to  the  Earls  named  by  you,  and 
to  the  Earl  of  Huntingdon,  I  most  willingly  agree,  and  protest,  and 
joy  in  the  alliance  with  all  my  heart.  But  since,  by  your  letters  of 
the  3d  of  January,  to  my  great  discomfort  I  find  there  is  no  hope  of 
relief  of  her  Majesty  for  my  decayed  estate  in  her  Highness'  service, 
I  am  the  more  careful  to  keep  myself  able,  by  sale  of  part  of  that 
which  is  left,  to  ransom  me  out  of  the  servitude  I  live  in  for  my 
debts ;  for  as  I  know,  sir,  that  it  is  the  virtue  which  is,  or  that  you 
suppose  is,  in  my  son,  that  you  made  choice  of  him  for  your  daugh- 
ter, refusing  haply  far  greater  and  far  richer  matches  than  he,  so 
was  my  confidence  great  that  by  your  good  means  I  might  have  ob- 
tained some  small  reasonable  suit  of  her  Majesty ;  and  thesefore  I 
nothing  regarded  any  present  gain,  for  if  I  had,  I  might  have  re- 
ceived a  great  sum  of  money  for  my  good  will  of  my  son's  marriage, 
greatly  to  the  relief  of  my  private  biting  necessity." 

After  this  exordium,  Sir  Henry  takes  leave  to  review  his 
actions  as  Viceroy  of  Ireland  and  Governor  of  Wales,  with 
the  view  of  showing  how  steadfastly  he  had  served  his 
queen  and  how  ill  be  had  been  recompensed. 

"  Three  times  her  Majesty  hath  sent  me  her  Deputy  into  Ireland, 
and  in  every  of  the  three  times  I  sustained  a  great  and  a  violent  re- 
bellion, every  one  of  which  I  subdued,  and  (with  honourable  peace) 
left  the  country  in  quiet.  I  returned  from  each  of  these  three  Depu- 
tations three  hundred  pounds  worse  than  I  went." 

It  would  be  impertinent  to  the  subject  of  this  essay  were 
I  to  follow  Sir  Henry  in  the  minute  and  interesting  account 
of  his  Irish  administration.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  the  let- 
ter to  Walsingham  is  both  the  briefest  and  the  most  mate- 
rial statement  of  facts  which  we  possess  regarding  that  pe- 
riod of  English  rule.  Omitting  then  all  notice  of  public 
affairs,  I  pass  on  to  confidences  of  a  more  personal  charac- 


v.]  LIFE  AT  COURT  AGAIN,  AND  MARRIAGE.  103 

ter.     After  dwelling  upon  sundry  embassies  and  other  em- 
ployments, he  proceeds : — 

"  Truly,  sir,  by  all  these  I  neither  won  nor  saved ;  but  now,  by 
your  patience,  once  again  to  my  great  and  high  office — for  great  it  is 
in  that  in  some  sort  I  govern  the  third  part  of  this  realm  under  her 
most  excellent  Majesty  ;  high  it  is,  for  by  that  I  have  precedency  of 
great  personages  and  far  my  betters :  happy  it  is  for  the  people  whom 
I  govern,  as  before  is  written,  and  most  happy  for  the  commodity  that 
I  have  by  the  authority  of  that  place  to  do  good  every  day,  if  I  have 
grace,  to  one  or  other;  wherein  I  confess  I  feel  no  small  felicity; 
but  fgr  any  profit  I  gather  by  it,  God  and  the  people  (seeing  my 
manner  of  life)  knoweth  it  is  not  possible  how  I  should  gather 
any. 

"For,  alas,  sir!  how  can  I,  not  having  one  gront  of  pension  be- 
longing to  the  office  ?  I  have  not  so  much  ground  as  will  feed  a 
mutton.  I  sell  no  justice,  I  trust  you  do  not  hear  of  any  order  taken 
by  me  ever  reversed,  nor  my  name  or  doings  in  any  court  ever 
brought  in  question.  And  if  my  mind  were  so  base  and  contempti- 
ble as  I  would  take  money  of  the  people  whom  I  command  for  my 
labour  taken  among  them,  yet  could  they  give  me  none,  or  very  little, 
for  the  causes  that  come  before  me  are  causes  of  people  mean, 
base,  and  many  very  beggars.  Only  £20  a  week  to  keep  an  honour- 
able house,  and  100  marks  a  year  to  bear  foreign  charges  I  have ; 
.  .  .  but  true  books  of  account  shall  be,  when  you  will,  showed  unto 
you  that  I  spend  above  £30  a  week,,  Here  some  may  object  that  I 
upon  the  same  keep  my  wife  and  her  followers.  True  it  is  she  is 
now  with  me,  and  hath  been  this  half  year,  and  before  not  in  many 
years ;  and  if  both  she  and  I  had  our  food  and  house-room  free,  as 
we  have  not,  in  my  conscience  we  have  deserved  it.  For  my  part,  I 
am  not  idle,  but  every  day  I  work  in  my  function ;  and  she,  for  her 
old  service,  and  marks  yet  remaining  in  her  face  taken  in  the  same, 
meriteth  her  meat.  When  I  went  to  Newhaven  I  left  her  a  full  fair 
lady,  in  mine  eye  at  least  the  fairest ;  and  when  I  returned  I  found 
her  as  foul  a  lady  as  the  small-pox  could  make  her,  which  she  did 
take  by  continual  attendance  of  her  Majesty's  most  precious  person 
(sick  of  the  same  disease),  the  scars  of  which,  to  her  resolute  dis- 
comfort, ever  since  have  done  and  doth  remain  in  her  face,  so  as  she 
liveth  solitarily,  sicut  mcticorax  in  domicilio  suo,  more  to  my  charge 
34 


104  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

than  if  we  had  boarded  together,  as  we  did  before  that  evil  accident 
happened." 

The  epistle  ends  with  a  general  review  of  Sir  Henry's 
pecuniary  situation,  by  which  it  appears  that  the  Sidney 
estate  had  been  very  considerably  impoverished  during  his 
tenure  of  it. 

"The  rest  of  my  life  is  with  an  over-long  precedent  discourse 
manifested  to  you.  But  this  to  your  little  comfort  I  cannot  omit, 
that  whereas  my  father  had  but  one  son,  and  he  of  no  great  proof, 
being  of  twenty- four  years  of  age  at  his  death,  and  I  having  three 
sons ;  one  of  excellent  good  proof,  the  second  of  great  good  proof, 
and  the  third  not  to  be  despaired  of,  but  very  well  to  be  liked ;  if  I 
die  to-morrow  next  I  should  leave  them  worse  than  my  father  left 
me  by  £20,000 ;  and  I  am  now  fifty-four  years  of  age,  toothless  and 
trembling,  being  £5000  in  debt,  yea,  and  £30,000  worse  than  I  was 
at  the  death  of  my  most  dear  king  and  master,  King  Edward  VI. 

"  I  have  not  of  the  crown  of  England  of  my  own  getting,  so  much 
ground  as  I  can  cover  with  my  foot.  All  my  fees  amount  not  to  100 
marks  a  year.  I  never  had  since  the  queen's  reign  any  extraordi- 
nary aid  by  license,  forfeit,  or  otherwise.  And  yet  for  all  that  was 
done,  and  somewhat  more  than  here  is  written,  I  cannot  obtain  to 
have  in  fee-farm  £100  a  year,  already  in  my  own  possession,  paying 
the  rent. 

"  And  now,  dear  sir  and  brother,  an  end  of  this  tragical  discourse, 
tedious  for  you  to  read,  but  more  tedious  it  would  have  been  if  it 
had  come  written  with  my  own  hand,  as  first  it  was.  Tragical  I 
may  well  term  it ;  for  that  it  began  with  the  joyful  love  and  great 
liking  with  likelihood  of  matrimonial  match  between  our  most  dear 
and  sweet  children  (whom  God  bless),  and  endeth  with  declaration 
of  my  unfortunate  and  hard  estate. 

"  Our  Lord  bless  you  with  long  life  and  happiness.  I  pray  you, 
sir,  commend  me  most  heartily  to  my  good  lady,  cousin,  and  sister, 
your  wife,  and  bless  and  kiss  our  sweet  daughter.  And  if  you  will 
vouchsafe,  bestow  a  blessing  upon  the  young  knight,  Sir  Philip." 

There  is  not  much  to  say  of  Philip's  bride.  He  and  she 
lived  together  as  man  and  wife  barely  three  years.  Nothing 


v.]  LIFE  AT  COURT  AGAIN,  AND  MARRIAGE.  105 

remains  to  prove  that  she  was  either  of  assistance  to  him 
or  the  contrary.  After  his  death  she  contracted  a  secret 
marriage  with  Robert  Devereux,  the  Earl  of  Essex ;  and 
when  she  lost  this  second  husband  on  the  scaffold,  she 
adopted  the  Catholic  religion  and  became  the  wife  of 
Lord  Clanricarde.  In  this  series  of  events  I  can  see  noth- 
ing to  her  discredit,  considering  the  manners  of  that  cen- 
tury. Her  daughter  by  Philip,  it  is  known,  made  a  brill- 
iant marriage  with  the  Earl  of  Rutland.  Her  own  repeated 
nuptials  may  be  taken  to  prove  her  personal  attractiveness. 
Sir  Philip  Sidney,  who  must  have  been  intimately  acquainted 
with  her  character,  chose  her  for  his  wife  while  his  passion 
for  Penelope  Devereux  had  scarcely  cooled ;  and  he  did  so 
without  the  inducements  which  wealth  or  brilliant  fortunes 
might  have  offered. 
H 


CHAPTER  VI. 


AMONG  Sidney's  miscellaneous  poems  there  is  a  lyric,  which 
has  been  supposed,  not  without  reason,  I  think,  to  express 
his  feelings  upon  the  event  of  Lady  Penelope  Devereux's 
marriage  to  Lord  Rich. 

"  Ring  out  your  bells,  let  mourning  shows  be  «nread : 
For  Love  is  dead  : 

All  love  is  dead,  infected 
With  plague  of  deep  disdain : 

Worth,  as  naught  worth,  rejected, 
And  faith  fair  scorn  doth  gain. 

From  so  ungrateful  fancy, 

From  such  a  female  frenzy, 

From  them  that  use  men  thus, 

Good  Lord,  deliver  us ! 

"  Weep,  neighbours,  weep ;  do  you  not  hear  it  said 
That  Love  is  dead  ? 

His  death-bed,  peacock's  folly ; 
His  winding-sheet  is  shame ; 

His  will,  false-seeming  holy ; 
His  sole  executor,  blame. 

From  so  ungrateful  fancy, 

From  such  a  female  frenzy, 

From  them  that  use  men  thus, 

Good  Lord,  deliver  us  ! 


CHAP,  vi.]  "ASTROPHEL  AND   STELLA."  107 

"  Alas !  I  lie :  rage  hath  this  error  bred ; 
Love  is  not  dead ; 

Love  is  not  dead,  but  sleepeth 
In  her  unmatched  mind, 

Where  she  his  counsel  keepeth 
Till  due  deserts  she  find. 

Therefore  from  so  vile  fancy, 

To  call  such  wit  a  frenzy, 

Who  Love  can  temper  thus, 

Good  Lord,  deliver  us  !" 

These  stanzas  sufficiently  set  forth  the  leading  passion 
of  Astrophel  and  Stella.  That  series  of  poems  celebrates 
Sir  Philip  Sidney's  love  for  Lady  Rich  after  her  marriage, 
his  discovery  that  this  love  was  returned,  and  the  curb 
which  her  virtue  set  upon  his  too  impetuous  desire.  Be- 
fore the  publication  of  Shakespeare's  sonnets,  these  were 
undoubtedly  the  finest  love  poems  in  our  language;  and 
though  exception  may  be  taken  to  the  fact  that  they  were 
written  for  a  married  woman,  their  purity  of  tone  and 
philosophical  elevation  of  thought  separate  them  from  the 
vulgar  herd  of  amatorious  verses. 

I  have  committed  myself  to  the  opinion  that  Astrophel 
and  Stella  was  composed,  if  not  wholly,  yet  in  by  far  the 
greater  part,  after  Lady  Rich's  marriage.  This  opinion  be- 
ing contrary  to  the  judgment  of  excellent  critics,  and  op- 
posed to  the  wishes  of  Sidney's  admirers,  I  feel  bound  to 
state  my  reasons.  In  the  first  place,  then,  the  poems  would 
have  no  meaning  if  they  were  written  for  a  maiden.  When 
a  friend,  quite  early  in  the  series,  objects  to  Sidney  that 

"  Desire 

Doth  plunge  my  well-formed  soul  even  in  the  mire 
Of  sinful  thoughts  which  do  in  ruin  end," 

what  significance  could  these  words  have  if  Stella  were  still 


108  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY,  [CHAP. 

free  ?  Stella,  throughout  two-thirds  of  the  series  (after  No. 
xxxiii.),  makes  no  concealment  of  her  love  for  Astrophel ; 
and  yet  she  persistently  repels  his  ardent  wooing.  Why 
should  she  have  done  so,  if  she  was  at  liberty  to  obey  her 
father's  death-bed  wish  and  marry  him  ?  It  may  here  be 
objected  that  the  reasons  for  the  breaking  off  of  her  in- 
formal engagement  to  Sidney  are  not  known ;  both  he  and 
she  were  possibly  conscious  that  the  marriage  could  not 
take  place.  To  this  I  answer  that  a  wife's  refusal  of  a 
lover's  advances  differs  from  a  maiden's;  and  Stella's  re- 
fusal in  the  poems  is  clearly,  to  my  mind  at  least,  that  of  a 
married  woman.  Sidney,  moreover,  does  not  hint  at  un- 
kind fate  or  true  love  hindered  in  its  course  by  insurmount- 
able obstacles.  He  has,  on  .the  other  hand,  plenty  to  say 
about  the  unworthy  husband,  Stella's  ignoble  bondage,  and 
Lord  Eich's  jealousy. 

But,  it  has  been  urged,  we  are  not  sure  that  we  possess 
the  sonnets  and  songs  of  Astrophel  and  Stella  in  their 
right  order.  May  we  not  conjecture  that  they  were  either 
purposely  or  unintelligeritly  shuffled  by  the  publisher,  who 
surreptitiously  obtained  copies  of  the  loose  sheets?  And 
again,  will  not  close  inspection  of  the  text  reveal  local  and 
temporal  allusions,  by  means  of  which  we  shall  be  able  to 
assign  some  of  the  more  compromising  poems  to  dates  be- 
fore Penelope's  marriage? 

There  are  two  points  here  for  consideration,  which  I 
will  endeavour  to  treat  separately.  The  first  edition  of 
Astrophel  and  Stella  was  printed  in  1591  by  Thomas  New- 
man. Where  this  man  obtained  his  manuscript  does  not 
appear.  But  in  the  dedication  he  says :  "  It  was  my  fortune 
not  many  days  since  to  light  upon  the  famous  device  of 
Astrophel  and  Stella,  which  carrying  the  general  com- 
mendation of  all  men  of  judgment,  and  being  reported  to 


vi.]  "ASTROPHEL  AND  STELLA."  109 

be  one  of  the  rarest  things  that  ever  any  Englishman  set 
abroach,  I  have  thought  good  to  publish  it."  Further  on 
he  adds:  "For  my  part  I  have  been  very  careful  in  the 
printing  of  it,  and  whereas,  being  spread  abroad  in  written 
copies,  it  had  gathered  much  corruption  by  ill-writers ;  I 
have  used  their  help  and  advice  in  correcting  and  restoring 
it  to  his  first  dignity  that  I  know  were  of  skill  and  expe- 
rience in  those  matters."  If  these  sentences  have  any 
meaning,  it  is  that  Astrophel  and  Stella  circulated  widely 
in  manuscript,  as  a  collected  whole,  and  not  in  scattered 
sheets,  before  it  fell  into  the  hands  of  Newman.  It  was 
already  known  to  the  world  as  a  "famous  device,"  a  "rare 
thing ;"  and  throughout  the  dedication  it  is  spoken  of  as  a 
single  piece.  What  strengthens  this  argument  is  that  the 
Countess  of  Pembroke,  in  her  lifetime,  permitted  Astrophel 
and  Stella  to  be  reprinted,  together  with  her  own  corrected 
version  of  the  Arcadia,  without  making  any  alteration  in 
its  arrangement. 

If  we  examine  the  poems  with  minute  attention  we  shall, 
I  think,  be  led  to  the  conclusion  that  they  have  not  been 
shuffled,  but  that  we  possess  them  in  the  order  in  which 
Sidney  wrote  them*  To  beginwith,  the  first  nine  sonnets 
form  a  kind  of  exordium.  They  set  forth  the  object  for 
which  the  whole  series  was  composed,  they  celebrate  Stella's 
mental  and  personal  charms  in  general,  they  characterise 
Sidney's  style  and  source  of  inspiration,  and  criticise  the 
affectations  of  his  contemporaries.  In  the  second  place, 
we  find  that  many  of  the  sonnets  are  written  in  sequence. 
I  will  cite,  for  example,  Nos.  31-34,  Nos.  38-40,  Nos.  69- 
72,  Nos.  87-92,  Nos.  93-100.  Had  the  order  been  either 
unintelligently  or  intentionally  confused,  it  is  not  probable 
that  these  sequences  would  have  survived  entire.  And  upon 
this  point  I  may  notice  that  the  interspersed  lyrics  occur  in 


110  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  tv*Ai>. 

their  proper  places,  that  is  to  say,  in  close  connection  with 
the  subject-matter  of  accompanying  sonnets.  It  may  third- 
ly be  observed  that  Astrophel  and  Stella,  as  we  have  it,  ex- 
hibits a  natural  rhythm  and  development  of  sentiment,  from 
admiration  and  chagrin,  through  expectant  passion,  followed 
by  hope  sustained  at  a  high  pitch  of  enthusiasm,  down  to 
eventual  discouragement  and  resignation.  As  Thomas  Nash 
said  in  his  preface  to  the  first  edition :  "  The  chief  actor 
here  is  Melpomene,  whose  dusky  robes  dipped  in  the  ink  of 
tears  as  yet  seem  to  drop  when  I  see  them  near.  The  ar- 
gument cruel  chastity,  the  prologue  hope,  the  epilogue  de- 
spair." That  the  series  ends  abruptly,  as  though  its  author 
had  abandoned  it  from  weariness,  should  also  be  noticed. 
This  is  natural  in  the  case  of  lyrics,  which  were  clearly  the 
outpouring  of  the  poet's  inmost  feelings.  When  he  had 
once  determined  to  cast  off  the  yoke  of  a  passion  which 
could  not  but  have  been  injurious  to  his  better  self,  Astro- 
phel stopped  singing.  He  was  not  rounding  off  a  subject 
artistically  contemplated  from  outside.  There  was  no  en- 
voy to  be  written  when  once  the  aliment  of  love  had  been 
abandoned. 

With  regard  to  the  second  question  I  have  raised,  name- 
ly, whether  close  inspection  will  not  enable  us  to  fix  dates 
for  the  composition  of  Astrophel  and  Stella,  and  thus  to 
rearrange  the  order  of  its  pieces,  I  must  say  that  very  few 
of  the  poems  seem  to  me  to  offer  any  solid  ground  for  crit- 
icism of  this  kind.  Sonnets  24,  35,  and  37  clearly  allude 
to  Stella's  married  name.  Sonnet  41,  the  famous  "  Having 
this  day  my  horse,  my  hand,  my  lance,"  may  refer  to  Sid- 
ney's assault  upon  the  Castle  of  Perfect  Beauty ;  but  since 
he  was  worsted  in  that  mimic  siege,  this  seems  doubtful. 
The  mention  of  "  that  sweet  enemy  France  "  might  lead  us 
equally  well  to  assign  it  to  the  period  of  Anjou's  visit  In 


vi.]  "ASTROPHEL  AND  STELLA."  Ill 

either  case,  the  date  would  be  after  Stella's  betrothal  to 
Lord  Rich.  Sonnet  30,  "  Whether  the  Turkish  new  moon 
minded  be,"  points  to  political  events  in  Europe  which  were 
taking  place  after  the  beginning  of  1581,  and  consequent- 
ly about  the  period  of  Penelope's  marriage.  These  five 
sonnets  fall  within  the  first  forty-one  of  a  series  which 
numbers  one  hundred  and  eight.  After  them  I  can  dis- 
cover nothing  but  allusions  to  facts  of  private  life,  Astro-^ 
phel's  absence  from  the  Court,  Stella's  temporary  illness,  a 
stolen  kiss,  a  lover's  quarrel. 

In  conclusion,  I  would  fain  point  out  that  any  one  who 
may  have  composed  a  series  of  poems  upon  a  single  theme, 
extending  over  a  period  of  many  months,  will  be  aware  how 
impertinent  it  is  for  an  outsider  to  debate  their  order. 
Nothing  can  be  more  certain,  in  such  species  of  composi- 
tion, than  that  thoughts  once  suggested  will  be  taken  up  for 
more  elaborate  handling  on  a  future  occasion.  Thus  the 
contention  between  love  and  virtue,  which  occurs  early  in 
Astrophel  and  Stella,  is  developed  at  length  towards  its 
close.  The  Platonic  conception  of  beauty  is  suggested  near 
the  commencement,  and  is  worked  out  in  a  later  sequence. 
Sometimes  a  motive  from  external  life  supplies  the  poet 
with  a  single  lyric,  which  seems  to  interrupt  the  lover's 
monologue.  Sometimes  he  strikes  upon  a  vein  so  fruitful 
that  it  yields  a  succession  of  linked  sonnets  and  intercalated 
songs. 

I  have  attempted  to  explain  why  I  regard  Astrophel  and 
Stella  as  a  single  whole,  the  arrangement  of  which  does  not 
materially  differ  from  that  intended  by  its  author.  I  have 
also  expressed  my  belief  that  it  was  written  after  Penelope 
Devereux  became  Lady  Rich.  This  justifies  me  in  saying, 
as  I  did  upon  a  former  page,  that  the  exact  date  of  her 
marriage  seems  to  me  no  matter  of  vital  importance  in  Sir 


112  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

Philip  Sidney's  biography.  My  theory  of  the  love  which 
it  portrays,  is  that  this  was  latent  up  to  the  time  of  her  be- 
trflthal,  and  that  the  consciousness  of  the  irrevocable  at  that 
moment  made  it  break  into  the  kind  of  regretful  passion 
which  is  peculiarly  suited  for  poetic  treatment.  Stella  may 
have  wasted  some  of  Philip's  time ;  but  it  is  clear  that  she 
behaved  honestly,  and  to  her  lover  helpfully,  by  the  firm 
but  gentle  refusal  of  his  overtures.  Throughout  these  po- 
ems, though  I  recognise  their  very  genuine  emotion,  I  can- 
not help  discerning  the  note  of  what  may  be  described  as 
poetical  exaggeration.  In  other  words,  I  do  not  believe 
that  Sidney  would  in  act  have  really  gone  so  far  as  he  pro- 
fesses to  desire.  On  paper  it  was  easy  to  demand  more 
than  seriously,  in  hot  or  cold  blood,  he  would  have  attempt- 
ed. To  this  artistic  exaltation  of  a  real  feeling  the  chosen 
form  of  composition  both  traditionally  and  artistically  lent 
itself.  Finally,  when  all  these  points  have  been  duly  con- 
sidered, we  must  not  forget  that  society  at  that  epoch  was 
lenient,  if  not  lax,  in  matters  of  the  passions.  Stella's  posi- 
tion at  Court,  while  she  was  the  acknowledged  mistress  of 
Sir  Charles  Blount,  suffices  to  prove  this;  nor  have  we  any 
reason  to  suppose  that  Philip  was,  in  this  respect,  more  "  a 
spirit  without  blot "  than  his  contemporaries.  Some  of  his 
death-bed  meditations  indicate  sincere  repentance  for  past 
follies ;  but  that  his  liaison  with  Lady  Rich  involved  noth- 
ing worse  than  a  young  man's  infatuation,  appears  from  the 
pervading  tone  of  Astrophel  and  Stella.  A  motto  might 
be  chosen  for  it  from  the  66th  sonnet : 

"  I  cannot  brag  of  word,  much  less  of  deed." 

The  critical  cobwebs  which  beset  the  personal  romance 
of  Astrophel  and  Stella  have  now  been  cleared  away.  Read- 
ers of  these  pages  know  how  I  for  one  interpret  its  prob- 


vi.]  "ASTROPHEL  AND  STELLA."  113 

lems.  Whatever  opinion  they  may  form  upon  a  topic 
which  has  exercised  many  ingenious  minds,  we  are  able  at 
length  to  approach  the  work  of  art,  and  to  study  its  beau- 
ties together.  Regarding  one  point,  I  would  fain  submit  a 
word  of  preliminary  warning.  However  artificial  and  allu- 
sive may  appear  the  style  of  these  love  poems,  let  us  pre- 
pare ourselves  to  find  real  feeling  and  substantial  thought 
expressed  in  them.  It  was  not  a  mere  rhetorical  embroid- 
ery of  phrases  which  moved  downright  Ben  Jonson  to  ask : 

"  Hath  not  great  Sidney  Stella  set 
Where  never  star  shone  brighter  yet  ?" 

It  was  no  flimsy  string  of  pearled  conceits  which  drew  from 
Eichard  Crashaw  in  his  most  exalted  moment  that  allusion 

to: 

"  Sydnaean  showers 
Of  sweet  discourse,  whose  powers 
Can  crown  old  Winter's  head  with  flowers." 

The  elder  poets,  into  whose  ken  Astrophel  and  Stella  swam 
like  a  thing  of  unimagined  and  unapprehended  beauty,  had 
no  doubt  of  its  sincerity.  The  quaintness  of  its  tropes, 
and  the  condensation  of  its  symbolism  were  proofs  to  them 
of  passion  stirring  the  deep  soul  of  a  finely-gifted,  highly- 
educated  man.  They  read  it  as  we  read  In  Memoriam,  ac- 
knowledging some  obscure  passages,  recognising  some  awk- 
wardness of  incoherent  utterance,  but  taking  these  on  trust 
as  evidences  of  the  poet's  heart  too  charged  with  stuff  for 
ordinary  methods  of  expression.  What  did  Shakespeare 
make  Achilles  say  ? 

"  My  mind  is  troubled,  like  a  fountain  stirred, 
And  I  myself  see  not  the  bottom  of  it." 

Charles  Lamb  puts  this  point  well.     "  The  images  which 
6 


114  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

Jie  before  our  feet  (though  by  some  accounted  the  only 
natural)  are  least  natural  for  the  high  Sydnaean  love  to  ex- 
press its  fancies.  They  may  serve  for  the  love  of  Tibnllus, 
or  the  dear  author  of  the  Schoolmistress  ;  for  passions  that 
weep  and  whine  in  elegies  and  pastoral  ballads.  I  am  sure 
Milton  (and  Lamb  might  have  added  Shakespeare)  never 
loved  at  this  rate." 

Afhe  forms  adopted  by  Sidney  in  his  Astrophel  and  Stella 
sonnets  are  various ;  but  none  of  them  correspond  exactly 
to  the  Shakespearian  type — four  separate  quatrains  clinched 
with  a  final  couplet.  He  adheres  more  closely  to  Italian 
models,  especially  in  his  handling  of  the  octave  ;j  although 
we  find  only  two  specimens  (Nos.  29,  94)  of  the  true  Pe- 
trarchan species  in  the  treatment  of  the  sextet.  Sidney 
preferred  to  close  the  stanza  with  a  couplet.  The  best  and 
most  characteristic  of  his  compositions  are  built  in  this 
way :  two  quatrains  upon  a  pair  of  rhymes,  arranged  as  a, 
by  by  a,  a,  6,  by  a  ;  followed  by  a  quatrain  c.  c?,  c,  d,  and  a  coup- 
let By  e.  The  pauses  frequently  occur  at  the  end  of  the 
eighth  line,  and  again  at  the  end  of  the  eleventh,  so  that 
the  closing  couplet  is  not  abruptly  detached  from  the  struct- 
ure of  the  sextetr\  It  will  be  observed  from  the  quotations 
which  follow  that  this,  which  I  indicate  as  the  most  dis- 
tinctively Sidneyan  type,  is  by  no  means  invariable.  To 
analyse  each  of  the  many  schemes  under  which  his  sonnets 
can  be  arranged,  would  be  unprofitable  in  a  book  which 
does  not  pretend  to  deal  technically  with  this  form  of  stan- 
za. Yet  I  may  add  that  he  often  employs  a  type  of  the 
sextet,  which  is  commoner  in  French  than  in  Italian  or 
English  poetry,  with  this  rhyming  order  :  c,  c,  dy  e,  e,  d.  I 
have  counted  twenty  of  this  sort. 

The  first  sonnet,  which  is  composed  in  lines  of  twelve 

syllables,  sets  forth  the  argument : 
*•«*'""'«* 


vi.]  "ASTROPHEL  AND  STELLA."  115 

"  Loving  in  truth,  and  fain  in  verse  my  love  to  show, 

That  she,  dear  she,  might  take  some  pleasure  of  my  pain, 
Pleasure  might  cause  her  read,  reading  might  make  her  know, 

Knowledge  might  pity  win,  and  pity  grace  obtain ; 
I  sought  fit  words  to  paint  the  blackest  face  of  woe, 

Studying  inventions  fine  her  wits  to  entertain, 
Oft  turning  others'  leaves  to  see  if  thence  would  flow 

Some  fresh  and  fruitful  showers  upon  my  sun-burned  brain. 
But  words  came  halting  forth,  wanting  invention's  stay ; 

Invention,  nature's  child,  fled  step-dame  study's  blows ; 
Another's  feet  still  seemed  but  stranger's  in  my  way. 

Thus,  great  with  child  to  speak,  and  helpless  in  my  throes, 
Biting  my  truant  pen,  beating  myself  for  spite — 

*  Fool,'  said  my  Muse  to  me,  *  look  in  thy  heart  and  write !'  " 

This  means  that  Sidney's  love  was  sincere ;  but  that  be 
first  sought  expression  for  it  in  phrases  studied  from  fa- 
mous models.  He  wished  to  please  his  lady,  and  to  move 
her  pity.  His  efforts  proved  ineffectual,  until  the  Muse 
came  and  said :  "  Look  in  thy  heart  and  write."  Like 
Dante,  Sidney  then  declared  himself  to  be  one  : 

"  Che  quando, 

Amore  spira,  noto ;  ed  a  quel  modo 
Ch'ei  detta  dentro,  vo  significando." 

Purg.  24.  52. 

"  Love  only  reading  unto  me  this  art." 

Astrophel  and  Stella,  sonnet  28. 

The  3d,  6th,  15th,  and  28th  sonnets  return  to  the  same 
point.     He  takes  poets  to  task,  who 

*  With  strange  similes  enrich  each  line, 
Of  herbs  or  beasts  which  Ind  or  Afric  hold." 

(No.  3.) 

He  describes  how 

"  Some  one  his  song  in  Jove,  and  Jove's  strange  tales  attires, 
Bordered  with  bulls  and  swans,  powdered  with  golden  rain ; 


116  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

Another,  humbler  wit,  to  shepherd's  pipe  retires, 
Yet  hiding  royal  blood  full  oft  in  rural  vein." 

(No.  6.) 

He  inveighs  against 

"  You  that  do  search  for  every  purling  spring 
Which  from  the  ribs  of  old  Parnassus  flows ; 
And  every  flower,  not  sweet  perhaps,  which  grows 
Near  thereabouts,  into  your  poesy  wring  ; 
Ye  that  do  dictionary's  method  bring 

Into  your  rhymes,  running  in  rattling  rows ; 
You  that  poor  Petrarch's  long  deceased  woes, 
With  new-born  sighs,  and  denizened  wits  do  sing." 

(No.  15.) 
He  girds  no  less  against 

"  You  that  with  allegory's  curious  frame 

Of  other's  children  changelings  use  to  make." 

(No.  28.) 

All  these  are  on  the  wrong  tack  Stella  is  sufficient  source 
of  inspiration  for  him,  for  them,  for  every  singer.  This 
theoretical  position  does  not,  however,  prevent  him  from 
falling  into  a  very  morass  of  conceits,  of  which  we  have  an 
early  example  in  the  9th  sonnet.  Marino  could  scarcely 
have  executed  variations  more  elaborate  upon  the  single 
theme : 

"  Queen  Virtue's  Court,  which  some  call  Stella's  face." 

I  may  here  state  that  I  mean  to  omit  those  passages  in  As- 
trophel  and  Stella  which  strike  me  as  merely  artificial.  I 
want,  if  possible,  to  introduce  readers  to  what  is  perennially 
and  humanly  valuable  in  the  poetical  record  of  Sir  Philip 
Sidney's  romance.  More  than  enough  will  remain  of  emo- 
tion simply  expressed,  of  deep  thought  pithily  presented,  to 
fill  a  longer  chapter  than  I  can  dedicate  to  his  book  of  the 
heart. 


VI.] 


"ASTROPHEL  AND  STELLA." 


117 


The  2d  sonnet  describes  the  growth  of  Sidney's  passion. 
Love,  he  says,  neither  smote  him  at  first  sight,  nor  aimed  an 
upward  shaft  to  pierce  his  heart  on  the  descent.1  Long 
familiarity  made  him  appreciate  Stella.  Liking  deepened 
into  love.  Yet  at  the  first  he  neglected  to  make  his  love 
known.  Now,  too  late,  he  finds  himself  hopelessly  enslaved 
when  the  love  for  a  married  woman  can  yield  only  torment. 

"  Not  at  first  sight,  nor  with  a  dribbed  shot, 

Love  gave  the  wound,  which,  while  I  breathe  will  bleed ; 

But  known  worth  did  in  mine  of  time  proceed, 
Till  by  degrees  it  had  full  conquest  got. 
I  saw  and  liked  ;  I  liked,  but  loved  not ; 

I  loved,  but  straight  did  not  what  Love  decreed : 

At  length  to  Love's  decrees  I  forced  agreed, 
Yet  with  repining  at  so  partial  lot. 

Now  even  that  footstep  of  lost  liberty 
Is  gone ;  and  now,  like  slave-born  Muscovite, 

I  call  it  praise  to  suffer  tyranny ; 
And  now  employ  the  remnant  of  my  wit 

To  make  myself  believe  that  all  is  well, 

While  with  a  feeling  skill  I  paint  my  hell." 

In  the  4th  and  5th  sonnets  two  themes  are  suggested, 
which,  later  on,  receive  fuller  development.  The  first  is  the 
contention  between  love  and  virtue ;  the  second  is  the  Pla- 
tonic conception  of  beauty  as  a  visible  image  of  virtue. 
The  latter  of  these  motives  is  thus  tersely  set  forth  in  son- 
net 25 : 

"  The  wisest  scholar  of  the  wight  most  wise 

By  Phoebus'  doom,  with  sugared  sentence  says 


1  This,  at  least,  is  how  I  suppose  we  ought  to  interpret  the  word 
dribbed.  In  Elizabethan  English  this  seems  to  have  been  technically 
equivalent  to  what  in  archery  is  now  called  elevating  as  opposed  to 
shooting  point  blank. 


118  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

That  virtue,  if  it  once  met  with  our  eyes, 

Strange  flames  of  love  it  in  our  souls  would  raise." 

Here,  at  the  commencement  of  the  series,  Sidney  rather 
plays  with  the  idea  than  dwells  upon  it: 

"  True,  that  true  beauty  virtue  is  indeed, 

Whereof  this  beauty  can  be  but  a  shade, 
Which  elements  with  mortal  mixture  breed. 

True,  that  on  earth  we  are  but  pilgrims  made, 
And  should  in  soul  up  to  our  country  move  ; 
True,  and  yet  true — that  I  must  Stella  love."  (No.  5.) 

In  the  10th  sonnet  he  opens  a  dispute  with  Reason,  which 
also  is  continued  at  intervals  throughout  the  series : 

*'  I  rather  wished  thee  climb  the  Muses'  hill, 
Or  reach  the  fruit  of  Nature's  choicest  tree, 
Or  seek  heaven's  course  or  heaven's  inside  to  see  ; 
Why  should'st  thou  toil  our  thorny  soil  to  till? 

Leave  sense,  and  those  which  sense's  objects  be ; 
Deal  thou  with  powers  of  thoughts,  leave  Love  to  Will." 

(No.  10.) 

The  next  explains  how  Cupid  has  taken  possession  of 
Stella's  person ;  only  the  fool  has  neglected  to  creep  into 
her  heart.  The  12th  expands  this  theme,  and  concludes 
thus: 

"  Thou  countest  Stella  thine,  like  those  whose  powers 

Having  got  up  a  breach  by  fighting  well, 
Cry  *  Victory  !  this  fair  day  all  is  ours  !' 

0  no ;  her  heart  is  such  a  citadel, 
So  fortified  with  wit,  stored  with  disdain, 
That  to  win  it  is  all  the  skill  and  pain."  (No.  12.) 

At  this  point,  then,  of  Astrophel's  love-diary,  Stella  still 
held  her  heart  inviolate,  like  an  acropolis  which  falls  not 
with  the  falling  of  the  outworks.  In  the  14th  he'replies 


vi. J  "ASTROPHEL  AND  STELLA."  119 

to  a  friend  who  expostulates  because  he  yields  to  the  sinful 
desire  for  a  married  woman  : 

"  If  that  be  sin  which  doth  the  manners  frame, 

Well  stayed  with  truth  in  word  and  faith  of  deed, 
Ready  of  wit  and  fearing  naught  but  shame ; 

If  that  be  sin  which  in  fixed  hearts  doth  breed 
A  loathing  of  all  loose  unchastity; 
Then  love  is  sin,  and  let  me  sinful  be."  (No.  14.) 

The  16th  has  one  fine  line.  At  first  Sidney  had  trifled 
with  love : 

"  But  while  I  thus  with  this  young  lion  played," 

I  fell,  he  says,  a  victim  to  Stella's  eyes.  The  18th  bewails 
his  misemployed  manhood,  somewhat  in  Shakespeare's 
vein : 

"  My  youth  doth  waste,  my  knowledge  brings  forth  toys ; 

My  wit  doth  strive  these  passions  to  defend, 
Which,  for  reward,  spoil  it  with  vain  annoys."  (No.  18.) 

The  21st  takes  up  the  same  theme,  and  combines  it  with 
that  of  the  14th  : 

"  Your  words,  my  friend,  right  healthful  caustics,  blame 
My  young  mind  marred." 

It  is  clear  that  Stella's  love  was  beginning  to  weigh 
heavily  upon  his  soul.  Friends  observed  an  alteration  in 
him,  and  warned  him  against  the  indulgence  of  anything 
so  ruinous  as  this  passion  for  a  woman  who  belonged  to 
another.  As  yet  their  admonitions  could  be  entertained 
and  playfully  put  by.  Sidney  did  not  feel  himself  irrevo- 
cably engaged.  He  still  trifled  with  love  as  a  pleasant  epi- 
sode in  life,  a  new  and  radiant  experience.  At  this  point 

two  well-composed  sonnets  occur,  which  show  how  he  be- 
35 


120  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

haved  before  the  world's  eyes  with  the  burden  of  his  nas- 
cent iove  upon  his  heart : 

"  The  curious  wits,  seeing  dull  pensiveness 

Bearing  itself  in  my  long-settled  eyes, 

Whence  those  same  fumes  of  melancholy  rise, 
With  idle  pains  and  missing  aim  do  guess. 
Some,  that  know  how  my  spring  I  did  address, 

Deem  that  my  Muse  some  fruit  of  knowledge  plies ; 

Others,  because  the  prince  of  service  tries, 
Think  that  I  think  state  errors  to  redress. 
But  harder  judges  judge  ambition's  rage, 

Scourge  of  itself,  still  climbing  slippery  place, 
Holds  my  young  brain  captived  in  golden  cage. 

0  fools,  or  over-wise  !  alas,  the  race 
Of  all  my  thoughts  hath  neither  stop  nor  start 
But  only  Stella's  eyes  and  Stella's  heart."  (No.  23.) 

"  Because  I  oft  in  dark  abstracted  guise 

Seem  most  alone  in  greatest  company, 

With  dearth  of  words  or  answers  quite  awry 
To  them  that  would  make  speech  of  speech  arise ; 
They  deem,  and  of  their  doom  the  rumour  flies, 

That  poison  foul  of  bubbling  pride  doth  lie 

So  in  my  swelling  breast,  that  only  I 
Fawn  on  myself  and  others  do  despise. 
Yet  pride,  I  think,  doth  net  my  soul  possess, 

Which  looks  too  oft  in  his  unflattering  glass; 
But  one  worse  fault,  ambition,  I  confess, 

That  makes  me  oft  my  best  friends  overpass, 
Unseen,  unheard,  while  thought  to  highest  place 
Bends  -all  his  powers — even  unto  Stella's  grace."  (No.  27.) 

Now,  too,  begin  the  series  of  plays  upon  the  name  Rich, 

}  and  invectives  against  Stella's  husband.     It  seems  certain 

I  that  Lord  Rich  was  not  worthy  of  his  wife.     Sidney  had 

an  unbounded  contempt  for  him.     He  calls  him  "rich 

fool "  and  "  lout,"  and  describes  Stella's  bondage  to  him  as 


&J  "ASTROPHEL  AND  STELLA."  121 

"a  foul  yoke."  Yet  this  disdain,  however  rightly  felt, 
ought  not  to  have  found  vent  in  such  sonnets  as  Nos.  24 
and  78.  The  latter  degenerates  into  absolute  offensiveness, 
when,  after  describing  the  faux  jaloux  under  a  transparent 
allegory,  he  winds  up  with  the  question : 

"  Is  it  not  evil  that  such  a  devil  wants  horns  ?" 

The  first  section  of  Astrophel  and  Stella  closes  with 
sonnet  30.  Thus  far  Sidney  has  been  engaged  with  his 
poetical  exordium.  Thus  far  his  love  has  been  an  absorb- 
ing pastime  rather  than  the  business  of  his  life.  The  31st 
sonnet  preludes,  with  splendid  melancholy,  to  a  new  and 
deeper  phase  of  passion  : 

"  With  how  sad  steps,  0  moon,  thou  climb'st  the  skies ! 

How  silently,  and  with  how  wan  a  face ! 

What,  may  it  be  that  even  in  heavenly  place 
That  busy  archer  his  sharp  arrows  tries  ? 
Sure,  if  that  long-with-love-acquainted  eyes 

Can  judge  of  love,  thou  feel'st  a  lover's  case ; 

I  read  it  in  thy  looks  ;  thy  languished  grace 
To  me,  that  feel  the  like,  thy  state  descries. 
Then,  even  of  fellowship,  0  moon,  tell  me, 

Is  constant  love  deemed  there  but  want  of  wit? 
Are  beauties  there  as  proud  as  here  they  be  ? 

Do  they  above  love  to  be  loved,  and  yet 
Those  lovers  scorn  whom  that  love  doth  possess  ? 
Do  they  call  virtue  there  ungratefulness  ?" 

Sidney's  thoughts,  throughout  these  poems,  were  often 
with  the  night;  far  oftener  than  Petrarch's  or  than  Shake- 
speare's. In  the  course  of  our  analysis,  we  shall  cull  many 
a  meditation  belonging  to  the  hours  before  the  dawn,  and 
many  a  pregnant  piece  of  midnight  imagery.  What  can 
be  more  quaintly  accurate  in  its  condensed  metaphors  than 
the  following  personification  of  dreams? — 
6*  I 


122  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

"  Morpheus,  the  lively  s6n  of  deadly  sleep, 
Witness  of  life  to  them  that  living  die, 
A  prophet  oft,  and  oft  an  history, 
A  poet  eke,  as  humours  fly  or  creep."  (No.  32.) 

In  the  33d  sonnet  we  find  the  first  hint  that  Stella 
might  have  reciprocated  Astrophel's  love : 

"  I  might,  unhappy  word,  woe  me,  I  might ! 

And  then  would  not,  or  could  not,  see  my  bliss : 
Till  now,  wrapped  in  a  most  infernal  night, 

I  find  how  heavenly  day,  wretch,  I  did  miss. 
Heart,  rend  thyself  ;  thou  dost  thyself  but  right ! 

No  lovely  Paris  made  thy  Helen  his ; 
No  force,  no  fraud  robbed  thee  of  thy  delight, 

Nor  fortune  of  thy  fortune  author  is  ! 
But  to  myself  myself  did  give  the  blow, 

While  too  much  wit,  forsooth,  so  troubled  rne, 
That  I  respects  for  both  our  sakes  must  show : 

And  yet  could  not,  by  rising  morn  foresee 
How  fair  a  day  was  near :  0  punished  eyes, 
That  I  had  been  more  foolish  or  more  wise !"  (No.  33.) 

This  sonnet  has  generally  been  taken  to  refer  to  Sidney's 
indolence  before  the  period  of  Stella's  marriage;  in  which 
case  it  expands  the  line  of  No.  2  : 

"I loved,  but  straight  did  not  what  Love  decrees." 

It  may,  however,  have  been  written  upon  the  occasion  of 
some  favourable  chance  which  he  neglected  to  seize;  and 
the  master  phrase  of  the  whole  composition,  "  respects  for 
both  our  sakes,"  rather  points  to  this  interpretation.  We 
do  not  know  enough  of  the  obstacles  to  Sidney's  match 
with  Penelope  Devereux  to  be  quite  sure  whether  such  "  re- 
spects "  existed  while  she  was  at  liberty. 

There  is  nothing  now  left  for  him  but  to  vent  his  regrets 


vi.]  "ASTROPHEL  AND  STELLA.'*  123 

and  vain  longings  in  words.  But  what  are  empty  words, 
what  consolation  can  they  bring? 

"And,  ah,  what  hope  that  hope  should  once  see  day, 
Where  Cupid  is  sworn  page  to  chastity  ?"  (No.  .35.) 

Each  day  Stella  makes  new  inroads  upon  the  fortress  of 

his  soul. 

"  Through  my  long-battered  eyes 
Whole  armies  of  thy  beauties  entered  in : 
And  there  long  since,  love,  thy  lieutenant  lies."  (No.  36.) 

Stella  can  weep  over  tales  of  unhappy  lovers  she  has  never 
known.  Perhaps  if  she  could  think  his  case  a  fable,  she 
might  learn  to  pity  him : 

"  Then  think,  my  dear,  that  you  in  me  do  read 
Of  lover's  ruin  some  thrice-sad  tragedy. 
I  am  not  I ;  pity  the  tale  of  me !"  (No.  45.) 

He  entreats  her  not  to  shun  his  presence  or  withdraw  the 
heaven's  light  of  her  eyes : 

"  Soul's  joy,  bend  not  those  morning  stars  from  me, 
Where  virtue  is  made  strong  by  beauty's  might !" 

Nay,  let  her  gaze  upon  him,  though  that  splendour  should 
wither  up  his  life : 

"  A  kind  of  grace  it  is  to  kill  with  speed."  (No.  48.) 

He  prays  to  her,  as  to  a  deity  raised  high  above  the  stress 
and  tempest  of  his  vigilant  desires : 

"  Alas,  if  from  the  height  of  virtue's  throne 

Thou  canst  vouchsafe  the  influence  of  a  thought 
Upon  a  wretch  that  long  thy  grace  hath  sought, 
Weigh  then  how  I  by  thee  am  overthrown  1"  (No.  40.) 

It  is  here,  too,  that  the  pathetic  outcry,  "  my  mind,  now 
of  the  basest,"  now  (that  is)  of  the  lowest  and  most  hum- 


124  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

bled,  is  forced  from  him.     Then,  returning  to  the  theme 
of  Stella's  unconquerable  virtue,  he  calls  her  eyes 

"The  schools  where  Venus  hath  learned  chastity."        (No.  42.) 

From  the  midst  of  this  group  shine  forth,  like  stars,  two 
sonnets  of  pure  but  of  very  different  lustre : 

"  Come,  sleep !  0  sleep,  the  certain  knot  of  peace, 

The  baiting-place  of  wit,  the  balm  of  woe, 
The  poor  man's  wealth,  the  prisoner's  release, 

Th'  indifferent  judge  between  the  high  and  low  ! 
With  shield  of  proof  shield  me  from  out  the  press 

Of  those  fierce  darts  despair  at  me  doth  throw ; 
0  make  in  me  those  civil  wars  to  cease ; 

I  will  good  tribute  pay,  if  thou  do  so. 
Take  thou  of  me  smooth  pillows,  sweetest  bed, 

A  chamber  deaf  of  noise  and  blind  of  light, 
A  rosy  garland  and  a  weary  head ; 

And  if  these  things,  as  being  thine  in  right, 
Move  not  thy  heavy  grace,  thou  shalt  in  me, 
Livelier  than  elsewhere,  Stella's  image  see."  (No.  39.) 

"  Having  this  day  my  horse,  my  hand,  my  lance 

Guided  so  well  that  I  obtained  the  prize, 

Both  by  the  judgment  of  the  English  eyes 
And  of  some  sent  from  that  sweet  enemy  France ; 
Horsemen  my  skill  in  horsemanship  advance, 

Town-folks  my  strength  ;  a  daintier  judge  applies 

His  praise  to  sleight  which  from  good  use  doth  rise ; 
Some  lucky  wits  impute  it  but  to  chance ; 
Others,  because  of  both  sides  I  do  take 

My  blood  from  them  who  did  excel  in  this, 
Think  nature  me  a  man-at-arms  did  make. 

How  far  they  shot  awry  !  the  true  cause  is, 
Stella  looked  on,  and  from  her  heavenly  face 
Sent  forth  the  beams  which  made  so  fair  my  race." 

(No.  41.) 


VI.]  "ASTROPHEL  AND  STELLA/'  125  t 

Sometimes  lie  feels  convinced  that  this  passion  will  be  his 
ruin,  and  strives,  but  strives  in  vain  as  yet,  against  it : 

"  Virtue,  awake  !    Beauty  but  beauty  is ; 

I  may,  I  must,  I  can,  I  will,  I  do 
Leave  following  that  which  it  is  gain  to  miss. 

Let  her  go !    Soft,  but  here  she  comes !    Go  to, 
Unkind,  I  love  you  not !    0  me,  that  eye 
Doth  make  my  heart  to  give  my  tongue  the  lie  !" 

(No.  47.) 

Sometimes  he  draws  strength  from  the  same  passion;  at 
another  time  the  sight  of  Stella  well-nigh  unnerves  his 
trained  bridle-hand,  and  suspends  his  lance  in  rest.  This 
from  the  til  ting-ground  is  worth  preserving : 

"  In  martial  sports  I  had  my  cunning  tried, 

And  yet  to  break  more  staves  did  me  address, 
While  with  the  people's  shouts,  I  must  confess, 

Youth,  luck,  and  praise  even  filled  my  veins  with  pride ; 

When  Cupid,  having  me,  his  slave,  descried 
In  Mars's  livery  prancing  in  the  press, 
*  What  now,  Sir  Fool !'  said  he  :  I  would  no  less  : 

*  Look  here,  I  say !'  I  looked,  and  Stella  spied, 

Who  hard  by  made  a  window  send  forth  light. 

My  heart  then  quaked,  then  dazzled  were  mine  eyes ; 

One  hand  forgot  to  rule,  th'  other  to  fight, 
Nor  trumpet's  sound  I  heard  nor  friendly  cries  : 

My  foe  came  on,  and  beat  the  air  for  me, 

Till  that  her  blush  taught  me  my  shame  to  see." 

(No.  53.) 

The  quaint  author  of  the  Life  and  Death  of  Sir  Philip 
Sidney,  prefixed  to  the  Arcadia,  relates  how:  "many  no- 
bles of  the  female  sex,  venturing  as  far  as  modesty  would 
permit,  to  signify  their  affections  unto  him ;  Sir  Philip 
will  not  read  the  characters  of  their  love,  though  obvious 
to  every  eye."  This  passage  finds  illustration  in  the  next 
sonnet : 


126  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

"  Because  I  breathe  not  love  to  every  one, 
Nor  do  not  use  set  colours  for  to  wear, 
Nor  nourish  special  locks  of  vowed  hair, 

Nor  give  each  speech  a  full  point  of  a  groan ; 

The  courtly  nymphs,  acquainted  with  the  moan 
Of  them  which  in  their  lips  love's  standard  bear, 
*  What  he  !'  say  they  of  me :  *  now  I  dare  swear 

He  cannot  love ;  no,  no,  let  him  alone !' 

And  think  so  still,  so  Stella  know  my  mind ! 
Profess  indeed  I  do  not  Cupid's  art : 

But  you,  fair  maids,  at  length  this  true  shall  find, 
That  his  right  badge  is  but  worn  in  the  heart : 

Dumb  swans,  not  chattering  pies,  do  lovers  prove; 

They  love  indeed  who  quake  to  say  they  love." 

(No.  54.) 

Up  to  this  point  Stella  has  been  Sidney's  saint,  the 
adored  object,  remote  as  a  star  from  his  heart's  sphere. 
Now  at  last  she  confesses  that  she  loves  him.  But  her 
love  is  of  pure  and  sisterly  temper;  and  she  mingles  its 
avowal  with  noble  counsels,  little  to  his  inclination. 

"  Late  tired  with  woe,  even  ready  for  to  pine 

With  rage  of  love,  I  called  my  love  unkind ; 
She  in  whose  eyes  love,  though  unfelt,  doth  shine, 

Sweet  said  that  I  true  love  in  her  should  find. 
I  joyed ;  but  straight  thus  watered  was  my  wine : 

That  love  she  did,  but  loved  a  love  not  blind ; 
Which  would  not  let  me,  whom  she  loved,  decline 

From  nobler  course,  fit  for  my  birth  and  mind ; 
And  therefore  by  her  love's  authority 
Willed  me  these  tempests  of  vain  love  to  fly, 

And  anchor  fast  myself  on  virtue's  shore. 
Alas,  if  this  the  only  metal  be 
Of  love  new-coined  to  help  my  beggary, 

Dear,  love  me  not,  that  you  may  love  me  more  !" 

(No.  62.) 

His  heated  senses  rebel  against  her  admonitions : 


vi.]  "ASTROPHEL  AND  STELLA."  127 

"No  more,  my  dear,  no  more  these  counsels  try; 

0  give  my  passions  leave  to  run  their  race ; 

Let  fortune  lay  on  me  her  worst  disgrace ; 
Let  folk  o'ercharged  with  brain  against  me  cry ; 
Let  clouds  bedim  my  face,  break  in  mine  eye ; 

Let  me  no  steps  but  of  lost  labour  trace ; 

Let  all  the  earth  with  scorn  recount  my  case ; 
But  do  not  will  me  from  my  love  to  fly  !"  (No.  64.) 

Then  he  seeks  relief  in  trifles.  Playing  upon  his  own 
coat  of  arms  (u  or,  a  pheon  azure  "),  he  tells  Love  how  he 
nursed  him  in  his  bosom,  and  how  they  both  must  surely 
be  of  the  same  lineage : 

"  For  when,  naked  boy,  thou  couldst  no  harbour  find 

In  this  old  world,  grown  now  so  too-too  wise, 
I  lodged  thee  in  my  heart,  and  being  blind 

By  nature  born,  I  gave  to  thee  mine  eyes  .  .  . 
Yet  let  this  thought  thy  tigrish  courage  pass, 
That  I  perhaps  am  somewhat  kin  to  thee ; 
Since  in  thine  arms,  if  learned  fame  truth  hath  spread, 
Thou  bear'st  the  arrow,  I  the  arrow  head." 

No.  65.) 

Stella  continues  to  repress  his  ardour : 

<\ 

"  I  cannot  brag  of  word,  much  less  of  deed  .  .  . 

Desire  still  on  stilts  of  fear  doth  go."  (No.  66.) 

Yet  once  she  blushed  when  their  eyes  met ;  and  her  blush 
"guilty  seemed  of  love."  Therefore  he  expostulates  with 
her  upon  her  cruelty  : 

"  Stella,  the  only  planet  of  my  light, 

Light  of  my  life,  and  life  of  my  desire, 

Chief  good  whereto  my  hope  doth  only  aspire, 
World  of  my  wealth,  and  heaven  of  my  delight ; 
Why  dost  thou  spend  the  treasures  of  thy  sprite, 

With  voice  more  fit  to  wed  Amphion's  lyre, 

Seeking  to  quench  in  me  the  noble  fire 
Fed  by  thy  worth  and  kindled  by  thy  sight  ?"  (No.  68.) 


128  .    SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

Suddenly,  to  close  this  contention,  we  find  him  at  the 
height  of  his  felicity.  Stella  has  relented,  yielding  him 
the  kingdom  of  her  heart,  but  adding  the  condition  that 
he  must  love,  as  she  does,  virtuously  : 

"  0  joy  too  high  for  my  low  style  to  show  ! 

0  bliss  fit  for  a  nobler  state  than  me ! 

Envy,  put  out  thine  eyes,  lest  thou  do  see 
What  oceans  of  delight  in  me  do  flow  ! 
My  friend,  that  oft  saw  through  all  masks  my  woe, 

Come,  come,  and  let  me  pour  myself  on  thee : 

Gone  is  the  winter  of  my  misery ; 
My  spring  appears  ;  0  see  what  here  doth  grow  ! 
For  Stella  hath,  with  words  where  faith  doth  shine, 

Of  her  high  heart  given  me  the  monarchy ; 
I,  I,  0  I,  may  say  that  she  is  mine ! 

And  though  she  give  but  thus  conditionally, 
This  realm  of  bliss,  while  virtuous  course  I  take, 
No  kings  be  crowned  but  they  some  covenants  make." 

(No.  69.) 

Now,  the  stanzas  which  have  so  long  eased  his  sadness, 
shall  be  turned  to  joy : 

"  Sonnets  be  not  bound  prentice  to  annoy ; 

Trebles  sing  high,  so  well  as  basses  deep  ; 
Grief  but  Love's  winter-livery  is  ;  the  boy 

Hath  cheeks  to  smile,  so  well  as  eyes  to  weep." 

And  yet,  with  the  same  breath,  he  says : 

"  Wise  silence  is  best  music  unto  bliss."  (No.  70.) 

In  the  next  sonnet  he  shows  that  Stella's  virtuous  condi- 
tions do  not  satisfy.  True  it  is  that  whoso  looks  upon 
her  face, 

"  There  shall  he  find  all  vices'  overthrow, 
Not  by  rude  force,  but  sweetest  sovereignty 
Of  reason.  .... 

But,  ah,  desire  still  cries  :  Give  me  some  food !"          (No.  71.) 


VL]  "ASTROPHEL  AND  STELLA."  129 

Farewell  then  to  desire : 

"  Desire,  though  thou  my  old  companion  art, 
And  oft  so  clings  to  my  pure  love  that  I 
One  from  the  other  scarcely  can  descry, 
While  each  doth  blow  the  fire  of  my  heart ; 
Now  from  thy  fellowship  I  needs  must  part."          (No.  72.) 

It  is  characteristic  of  the  fluctuations  both  of  feeling  and 
circumstance,  so  minutely  followed  in  AstropheFs  love- 
diary,  that,  just  at  this  moment,  when  he  has  resolved  to 
part  with  desire,  he  breaks  out  into  this  jubilant  song  upon 
the  stolen  kiss  : 

"  Have  I  caught  my  heavenly  jewel, 
Teaching  sleep  most  fair  to  be  ! 
Now  will  I  teach  her  that  she, 
When  she  wakes,  is  too-too  cruel. 

"  Since  sweet  sleep  her  eyes  hath  charmed, 
The  two  only  darts  of  Love, 
Now  will  I  with  that  boy  prove 
Some  play  while  he  is  disarmed. 

"  Her  tongue,  waking,  still  refuseth, 
Giving  frankly  niggard  no : 
Now  will  I  attempt  to  know 
What  no  her  tongue,  sleeping,  useth. 

"  See  the  hand  that,  waking,  guardeth, 
Sleeping,  grants  a  free  resort : 
Now  will  I  invade  the  fort ; 
Cowards  Love  with  loss  rewardeth. 

"  But,  0  fool,  think  of  the  danger 
Of  her  high  and  just  disdain ! 
Now  will  I,  alas,  refrain : 
Love  fears  nothing  else  but  anger. 


130  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

"  Yet  those  lips,  so  sweetly  swelling, 
Do  invite  a  stealing  kiss : 
Now  will  I  but  venture  this  ; 
Who  will  read,  must  first  learn  spelling. 

"  Oh,  sweet  kiss  !  but  ah,  she's  waking; 
Lowering  beauty  chastens  me : 
Now  will  I  for  fear  hence  flee  ; 
Fool,  more  fool,  for  no  mere  taking  !" 

Several  pages  are  occupied  with  meditations  on  this  lucky 
kiss.  The  poet's  thoughts  turn  to  alternate  ecstasy  and 
wantonness. 

"  I  never  drank  of  Aganippe's  well, 

Nor  ever  did  in  shade  of  Tempe  sit, 
And  Muses  scorn  with  vulgar  brains  to  dwell ; 
Poor  layman  I,  for  sacred  rites  unfit ! 

"  How  falls  it  then  that  with  so  smooth  an  ease 

My  thoughts  I  speak  ;  and  what  I  speak  doth  flow 
In  verse,  and  that  my  verse  test  wits  doth  please  ?" 

The  answer  of  course  is : 

"  Thy  lips  are  sweet,  inspired  with  Stella's  kiss."  (No.  74.) 

In  this  mood  we  find  him  praising  Edward  IV.,  who  risked 
his  kingdom  for  Lady  Elizabeth  Grey. 

"  Of  all  the  kings  that  ever  here  did  reign, 

Edward, named  fourth,  as  first  in  praise  I  name; 
Not  for  his  fair  outside,  nor  well-lined  brain, 

Although  less  gifts  imp  feathers  oft  on  fame : 
Nor  that  he  could,  young-wise,  wise-valiant,  frame 

His  sire's  revenge,  joined  with  a  kingdom's  gain ; 
And  gained  by  Mars,  could  yet  mad  Mars  so  tame 

That  balance  weighed  what  sword  did  late  obtain : 


vi.]  "ASTROPHEL  AND  STELLA."  131 

Nor  that  he  made  the  flower-de-luce  so  'fraid, 
Though  strongly  hedged  of  bloody  lions'  paws, 

That  witty  Lewis  to  him  a  tribute  paid  : 
Not  this,  not  that,  nor  any  such  small  cause  ; 

But  only  for  this  worthy  knight  durst  prove 

To  lose  his  crown  rather  than  fail  his  love."  (No.  75.) 

A  sonnet  on  the  open  road,  in  a  vein  of  conceits  worthy  of 
Philostratus,  closes  the  group  inspired  by  Stella's  kiss : 

"  High  way,  since  you  my  chief  Parnassus  be, 
And  that  my  Muse,  to  some  ears  not  unsweet, 
Tempers  her  words  to  trampling  horse's  feet 

More  oft  than  to  a  chamber-melody : 

No\v  blessed  you  bear  onward  blessed  me 
To  her,  where  I  my  heart,  safe-left  shall  meet, 
My  Muse  and  I  must  you  of  duty  greet 

With  thanks  and  wishes,  wishing  thankfully. 

Be  you  still  fair,  honoured  by  public  heed ; 

By  no  encroachment  wronged,  nor  time  forgot; 

Nor  blamed  for  blood,  nor  shamed  for  sinful  deed ; 
And  that  you  know  I  envy  you  no  lot 

Of  highest  wish,  I  wish  you  so  much  bliss — 

Hundreds  of  years  you  Stella's  feet  may  kiss."  (No.  84.) 

And  now  a  change  comes  over  the  spirit  of  Sidney's 
dream.  It  is  introduced,  as  the  episode  of  the  stolen  kiss 
was,  by  a  song.  We  do  not  know  on  what  occasion  he 
may  have  found  himself  alone  with  Stella  at  night,  when 
her  husband's  jealousy  was  sleeping,  the  house  closed,  and 
her  mother  in  bed.  But  the  lyric  refers,  I  think,  clearly 
to  some  real  incident — perhaps  at  Leicester  House : 

"  Only  joy,  now  here  you  are 
Fit  to  hear  and  ease  my  care, 
Let  my  whispering  voice  obtain 
Sweet  reward  for  sharpest  pain ; 
Take  me  to  thee  and  thee  to  me : — 
'  No,  no,  no,  no,  my  dear,  let  be !' 


132  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

"  Night  hath  closed  all  in  her  cloak, 
Twinkling  stars  love-thoughts  provoke; 
Danger  hence,  good  care  doth  keep  ; 
Jealousy  himself  doth  sleep  : 
Take  me  to  thee  and  thee  to  me : — 

*  No,  no,  no,  no,  my  dear,  let  be  !' 

"  Better  place  no  wit  can  find 
Cupid's  knot  to  loose  or  bind  ; 
These  sweet  flowers,  our  fine  bed,  too 
Us  in  their  best  language  woo : 
Take  me  to  thee  and  thee  to  me : — 

*  No,  no,  no,  no,  my  dear,  let  be  I' 

"This  small  light  the  moon  bestows, 
Serves  thy  beams  but  to  disclose ; 
So  to  raise  my  hap  more  high, 
Fear  not  else ;  none  can  us  spy  : 
Take  me  to  thee  and  thee  to  me : — 

*  No,  no,  no,  no,  my  dear,  let  be  !* 

"  That  you  heard  was  but  a  mouse  ; 
Dumb  sleep  holdeth  all  the  house ; 
Yet  asleep,  methinks  they  say, 
Young  fools,  take  time  while  you  may : 
Take  me  to  thee  and  thee  to  me  : — 
1  No,  no,  no,  no,  my  dear,  let  be  !' 

«  Niggard  time  threats,  if  we  miss 
This  large  offer  of  our  bliss, 
Long  stay  ere  he  grant  the  same : 
Sweet  then,  while  each  thing  doth  frame, 
Take  me  to  thee  and  thee  to  me  : — 

*  No,  no,  no,  no,  my  dear,  let  be  I* 

'*  Your  fair  mother  is  a-bed, 
Candles  out  and  curtains  spread ; 
She  thinks  you  do  letters  write : 
Write,  but  first  let  me  endite : 


vi.J  "ASTROPHEL  AND  STELLA."  133 

Take  me  to  thee  and  thee  to  me : — 
*  No,  no,  no,  no,  my  dear,  let  be  1* 

"  Sweet,  alas !  why  strive  you  thus  ? 
Concord  better  fitteth  us  ; 
Leave  to  Mars  the  strife  of  hands ; 
Your  power  in  your  beauty  stands  : 
Take  me  to  thee  and  thee  to  me  :— 
1  No,  no,  no,  no,  my  dear,  let  be  T 

"  Woe  to  me !  and  do  you  swear 
Me  to  hate  ?  but  I  forbear : 
Cursed  be  my  destinies  all, 

That  brought  me  so  high  to  fall ! 
Soon  with  my  death  I'll  please  thee  :— 
"  No,  no,  no,  no,  my  dear,  let  be !'  " 

It  will  be  noticed  that  to  all  his  pleadings,  passionate  or 
playful,  and  (it  must  be  admitted)  of  very  questionable 
morality,  she  returns  a  steadfast  No !  This  accounts  for 
the  altered  tone  of  the  next  sonnet.  In  the  85th  he  had 
indulged  golden,  triumphant  visions,  and  had  bade  his 
heart  be  moderate  in  the  fruition  of  its  bliss.  Now  he 
exclaims : 

"  Alas !  whence  came  this  change  of  looks  ?     If  I 
Have  changed  desert,  let  mine  own  conscience  be 
A  still-felt  plague  to  self-condemning  me  ; 
Let  woe  gripe  on  my  heart,  shame  load  mine  eye !" 

(No.  86.) 

He  has  pressed  his  suit  too  far,  and  Stella  begins  to 
draw  back  from  their  common  danger.  Five  songs  fol- 
low in  quick  succession,  one  of  which  prepares  us  for  the 
denouement  of  the  love-drama : 


"  In  a  grove  most  rich  of  shade, 
Where  birds  wanton  music  made, 


134  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

May,  then  young,  his  pied  weeds  showing, 
New-perfumed  with  flowers  fresh  growing : 

"  Astrophel  with  Stella  sweet 
Did  for  mutual  comfort  meet ; 
Both  within  themselves  oppressed, 
But  each  in  the  other  blessed. 

"  Him  great  harms  had  taught  much  care, 
Her  fair  neck  a  foul  yoke  bare  ; 
But  her  sight  his  cares  did  banish, 
In  his  sight  her  yoke  did  vanish. 

"  Wept  they  had,  alas,  the  while  ; 
But  now  tears  themselves  did  smile, 
While  tlu-ir  eyes,  by  Love  directed.. 
Interchangeably  reflected." 

For  a  time  the  lovers  sat  thus  in  silence,  signing  and 
gazing,  until  Love  himself  broke  out  into  a  passionate 
apostrophe  from  the  lips  of  Astrophel : 

"  Grant,  0  grant !  but  speech,  alas, 
Fails  me,  fearing  on  to  pass : 
Grant,  0  me  !  what  am  I  saying  ? 
But  no  fault  there  is  in  praying. 

"  Grant,  0  dear,  on  knees  I  pray 
(Knees  on  ground  he  then  did  stay) 
That  not  I,  but  since  I  love  you, 
Time  and  place  for  me  may  move  you. 

"  Never  season  was  more  fit ; 
Never  room  more  apt  for  it ; 
Smiling  air  allows  my  reason  ; 
These  birds  sing, '  Now  use  the  season.1 

"  This  small  wind,  which  so  sweet  is, 
See  how  it  the  leaves  doth  kiss ; 


vi.]  "ASTROPHEL  AND  STELLA"  135 

Each  tree  in  his  best  attiring, 
Sense  of  love  to  love  inspiring. 

"  Love  makes  earth  the  water  drink, 
Love  to  earth  makes  water  sink ; 
And  if  dumb  things  be  so  witty, 
Shall  a  heavenly  grace  want  pity  ?" 

To  this  and  to  yet  more  urgent  wooing*  Stella  replies  in 
stanzas  which  are  sweetly  dignified,  breathing  the  love  she 
felt,  but  dutifully  repressed. 

"  Astrophel,  said  she,  my  love, 
Cease  in  these  effects  to  prove ; 
Now  be  still,  yet  still  believe  me, 
Thy  grief  more  than  death  would  grieve  me. 

"  If  that  any  thought  in  me 
Can  taste  comfort  but  of  thee, 
Let  me,  fed  with  hellish  anguish, 
Joyless,  hopeless,  endless  languish. 

"  If  those  eyes  you  praised  be 
Half  so  dear  as  you  to  me, 
Let  me  home  return  stark  blinded 
Of  those  eyes,  and  blinder  minded ; 

"If  to  secret  of  my  heart 
I  do  any  wish  impart 
Where  thou  art  not  foremost  placed, 
Be  both  wish  and  I  defaced. 

**  If  more  may  be  said,  I  say 
All  my  bliss  in  thee  I  lay ; 
If  thou  love,  my  love,  content  thee, 
For  all  love,  all  faith  is  meant  thee» 

"Trust  me,  while  I  thee  deny, 

In  myself  the  smart  I  try ; 
36 


136  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

Tyrant  honour  doth  thus  use  thec, 
Stella's  self  might  not  refuse  thee. 

"  Therefore,  dear,  this  no  more  move, 
Lest,  though  I  not  leave  thy  love, 
Which  too  deep  in  me  is  framed, 
I  should  blush  when  thou  art  named. 

"  Therewithal  away  she  went, 
Leaving  him  to  [so  ?]  passion  rent 
With  what  she  had  done  and  spoken, 
That  therewith  my  song  is  broken." 

The  next  song  records  AstropheFs  hard  necessity  of  part- 
ing from  Stella.     But  why — 

"  Why,  alas,  doth  she  thus  swear 
That  she  loveth  me  so  dearly  ?" 

The  group  of  sonnets  which  these  lyrics  introduce  lead 
up  to  the  final  rupture,  not  indeed  of  heart  and  will,  but 
of  imposed  necessity,  which  separates  the  lovers.  Stella 
^throughout  plays  a  part  which  compels  our  admiration, 
and  Astrophel  brings  himself  at  length  to  obedience.  The 
situation  has  become  unbearable  to  her.  She  loves,  and, 
what  is  more,  she  has  confessed  her  love.  But,  at  any 
price,  for  her  own  sake,  for  his  sake,  for  honour,  for  duty, 
for  love  itself,  she  must  free  them  both  from  the  enchant- 
ment which  is  closing  round  them.  Therefore  the  path 
which  hitherto  has  been  ascending  through  fair  meadows 
to  the  height  of  rapture,  now  descends  upon  the  other  side. 
It  is  for  Sidney  a  long  road  of  sighs  and  tears,  rebellions 


and  heart-aches,  a  veritable  via  dolorosa,  ending,  however, 
in  conquest  over  self  and  tranquillity  of  conscience.  For, 
as  he  sang  in  happier  moments : 


n.]  "ASTROPHEL  AND  STELLA."  137 

"For  who  indeed  infelt  affection  bears, 

So  captives  to  his  saint  both  soul  and  sense, 
That,  wholly  hers,  all  selfness  he  forbears ; 

Then  his  desires  he  learns,  his  life's  course  thence." 

(No.  81.) 

In  the  hour  of  their  parting  Stella  betrays  her  own  emo- 
tion : 

"  Alas,  I  found  that  she  with  me  did  smart ; 
I  saw  that  tears  did  in  her  eyes  appear."  (No.  87.) 

After  this  follow  five  pieces  written  in  absence : 

"  Tush,  absence !  while  thy  mists  eclipse  that  light, 
My  orphan  sense  fiies  to  the  inward  sight, 
Where  memory  sets  forth  the  beams  of  love."  (No.  88.) 

/ 

"Each  day  seems  long,  and  longs  for  long-stayed  night ; 

The  night,  as  tedious,  woos  the  approach  of  day : 

Tired  with  the  dusty  toils  of  busy  day, 
Languished  with  horrors  of  the  silent  night, 
Suffering  the  evils  both  of  day  and  night, 

While  no  night  is  more  dark  than  is  my  day, 
Nor  no  day  hath  less  quiet  than  my  night."  (No.  89.) 

He  gazes  on  other  beauties ;  amber-coloured  bair,  milk- 
white  hands,  rosy  cbeeks,  lips  sweeter  and  redder  than  the 
rose. 

"  They  please,  I  do  confess,  they  please  mine  eyes  ; 

But  why  ?  because  of  you  they  models  be, 
Models,  such  be  wood-globes  of  glistering  skies." 

(No.  91.) 
A  friend  speaks  to  him  of  Stella : 

"  You  say,  forsooth,  you  left  her  well  of  late ; — 

0  God,  think  you  that  satisfies  my  care  ? 

1  would  know  whether  she  did  sit  or  walk ; 

How  clothed,  how  waited  on ;  sighed  she,  or  smiled ; 
Whereof,  with  whom,  how  often  did  she  talk ; 

With  what  pastimes  Time's  journey  she  beguiled ; 
7       K 


138  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

If  her  lips  deigned  to  sweeten  my  poor  name. — 
Say  all ;  and  all  well  said,  still  say  the  same." 

(No.  92.) 

Interpolated  in  this  group  is  a  more  than  usually  fluent 
sonnet,  in  which  Sidney  disclaims  all  right  to  call  himself 
a  poet : 

"  Stella,  think  not  that  I  by  verse  seek  fame, 

Who  seek,  who  hope,  who  love,  who  live  but  thee  ; 

Thine  eyes  my  pride,  thy  lips  my  history: 
If  thou  praise  not,  all  other  praise  is  shame. 
Nor  so  ambitious  am  I  as  to  frame 

A  nest  for  my  young  praise  in  laurel-tree ; 

In  truth  I  swear  I  wish  not  there  should  be 
Graved  in  my  epitaph  a  poet's  name. 
Nor,  if  I  would,  could  I  just  title  make 

That  any  laud  thereof  to  me  should  grow, 
Without  my  plumes  from  other  wings  I  take ; 

For  nothing  from  my  wit  or  will  doth  flow, 
Since  all  my  words  thy  beauty  doth  endite, 
And  love  doth  hold  my  hand  and  makes  me  write." 

(No.  90.) 

The  sonnets  in  absence  are  closed  by  a  song,  which,  as 
usual,  introduces  a  new  motive.  It  begins  "  O  dear  life," 
and  indulges  a  far  too  audacious  retrospect  over  the  past 
happiness  of  a  lover.  If,  as  seems  possible  from  an  allu- 
sion in  No.  84,  he  was  indiscreet  enough  to  communicate 
his  poems  to  friends,  this  lyric  may  have  roused  the  jeal- 
ousy of  Stella's  husband  and  exposed  her  to  hard  treat- 
ment or  reproaches.  At  any  rate,  something  he  had  said 
or  done  caused  her  pain,  and  he  breaks  out  into  incoherent 
self -revil  ings : 

"  0  fate,  0  fault,  0  curse,  child  of  my  bliss  !  .  .  . 
Through  me,  wretch  me,  even  Stella  vexed  is  ... 
I  have  (live  I,  and  know  this  ?)  harmed  thee  .  .  . 
I  cry  thy  sighs,  my  dear,  thy  tears  I  bleed."  (No.  93.) 


vi.J  "ASTROPHEL  AND  STELLA."  139 

Should  any  one  doubt  the  sincerity  of  accent  here,  let 
him  peruse  the  next  seven  sonnets,  which  are  written  in  se- 
quence upon  the  same  theme. 

"  Grief,  find  the  words ;  for  thou  hast  made  my  brain 
So  dark  with  misty  vapours  which  arise 
From  out  thy  heavy  mould,  that  inbent  eyes 
Can  scarce  discern  the  shape  of  mine  own  pain."         (No.  94.) 

"  Yet  sighs,  dear  sighs,  indeed  true  friends  you  are, 
That  do  not  leave  your  left  friend  at  the  worst ; 
But,  as  you  with  my  breast  I  oft  have  nursed, 
So,  grateful  now,  you  wait  upon  my  care. 

"  Nay,  Sorrow  comes  with  such  main  rage  that  he 
Kills  his  own  children,  tears,  finding  that  they 
By  Love  were  made  apt  to  consort  with  me : 
Only,  true  sighs,  you  do  not  go  away."  (No.  95.) 

The  night  is  heavier,  more  irksome  to  him ;  and  yet  he 
finds  in  it  the  parallel  of  his  own  case : 

"  Poor  Night  in  love  with  Phoebus'  light, 
And  endlessly  despairing  of  his  grace."  (No.  97.) 

The  bed  becomes  a  place  of  torment: 

"While  the  black  horrors  of  the  silent  night 
Paint  woe's  black  face  so  lively  to  my  sight, 
That  tedious  leisure  marks  each  wrinkled  line."          (No.  98.) 

Only  at  dawn  can  he  find  ease  in  slumber.  The  sonnet, 
in  which  this  motive  is  developed,  illustrates  Sidney's  meth- 
od of  veiling  definite  and  simple  thoughts  in  abstruse  and 
yet  exact  phrases.  We  feel  impelled  to  say  that  there  is 
something  Shakespearean  in  the  style.  But  we  must  re- 
member that  Shakespeare's  sonnets  were  at  this  time  locked 
up  within  his  brain,  as  the  flower  is  in  the  bud. 


140  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

"  When  far-spent  night  persuades  each  mortal  eye 
To  whom  nor  art  nor  nature  granteth  light, 
To  lay  his  then  mark-wanting  shafts  of  sight 

Closed  with  their  quivers  in  sleep's  armoury  ; 

With  windows  ope  then  most  my  mind  doth  lie 
Viewing  the  shape  of  darkness,  and  delight 
Takes  in  that  sad  hue,  which  with  the  inward  night 

Of  his  mazed  powers  keeps  perfect  harmony : 

But  when  birds  charm,  and  that  sweet  air  which  is 
Morn's  messenger  with  rose-enamelled  skies 

Calls  each  wight  to  salute  the  flower  of  bliss ; 
In  tomb  of  lids  then  buried  are  mine  eyes, 

Forced  by  their  lord  who  is  ashamed  to  find 

Such  light  in  sense  with  such  a  darkened  mind."     (No.  99.) 

Two  sonnets  upon  Stella's  illness  (to  which  I  should  be  in- 
clined to  add  the  four  upon  this  topic  printed  in  Constable's 
Diana)  may  be  omitted.  Bat  I  cannot  refrain  from  quot- 
ing the  last  song.  It  is  in  the  form  of  a  dialogue  at  night 
beneath  Stella's  window.  Though  apparently  together  at 
the  Court,  he  had  received  express  commands  from  her  to 
abstain  from  her  society ;  the  reason  of  which  can  perhaps 
be  found  in  No.  104.  This  sonnet  shows  that "  envious 
wits  "were  commenting  upon  their  intimacy ;  and  Sidney 
had  compromised  her  by  wearing  stars  upon  his  armour. 
Anyhow  he  is  now  reduced  to  roaming  the  streets  in  dark- 
ness, hoping  to  obtain  a  glimpse  of  his  beloved. 

"  'Who  is  it  that  this  dark  night 
Underneath  my  window  plaineth  ?' 
It  is  one  who  from  thy  sight 
Being,  ah,  exiled  disdaineth 
Every  other  vulgar  light. 

"  *  Why,  alas,  and  are  you  he  ? 

Be  not  yet  those  fancies  changed  ?' 
Dear,  when  you  find  change  in  me, 


vi.]  "ASTROPHEL  AND  STELLA."  141 

Though  from  me  you  be  estranged, 
Let  my  change  to  ruin  be. 

"  '  Well,  in  absence  this  will  die  ; 
Leave  to  see,  and  leave  to  wonder.* 
Absence  sure  will  help,  if  I 
Can  learn  how  myself  to  sunder 
From  what  in  my  heart  doth  lie. 

"  *  But  time  will  these  thoughts  remove  ; 
Time  doth  work  what  no  man  knowcth." 
Time  doth  as  the  subject  prove  ; 
With  time  still  the  affection  groweth 
In  the  faithful  turtle-dove. 


"  *  What  if  ye  new  beauties  see  ; 
Will  not  they  stir  new  affection  ?' 
I  will  think  they  pictures  be  ; 
Image-like  of  saints'  perfection, 
Poorly  counterfeiting  thee. 

"  *  But  your  reason's  purest  light 

Bids  you  leave  such  minds  to  nourish.' 
Dear,  do  reason  no  such  spite  ! 
Never  doth  thy  beauty  flourish 
More  than  in  my  reason's  sight. 

**  '  But  the  wrongs  Love  bears  will  mak>3 
Love  at  length  leave  undertaking.' 
No  !  the  more  fools  it  doth  shake, 
In  a  ground  of  so  firm  making 
Deeper  still  they  drive  the  stake. 

'•*  i  Peace,  I  think  that  some  give  ear  ; 
Come  no  more  lest  I  get  anger  !' 
Bliss,  I  will  my  bliss  forbear, 
Fearing,  sweet,  you  to  endanger; 
But  my  soul  shall  harbour  there. 


142  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP, 

"  *  Well,  begone ;  begone,  I  say ; 

Lest  that  Argus'  eyes  perceive  you  !' 
0  unjust  is  fortune's  sway, 
Which  can  make  me  thus  to  leave  you ; 
And  from  louts  to  run  away  !" 

A  characteristic  but  rather  enigmatical  sonnet  follows 
this  lyric.  It  is  another  night  scene.  Sidney,  watching 
from  his  window,  just  misses  the  sight  of  Stella  as  her  car- 
riage hurries  by : 

"  Cursed  be  the  page  from  whom  the  bad  torch  fell ; 
Cursed  be  the  night  which  did  your  strife  resist ; 
Cursed  be  the  coachman  that  did  drive  so  fast."        (No.  105.) 

Then  Astrophel  and  Stella  closes  abruptly,  with  those 
disconnected  sonnets,  in  one  of  which  the  word  "  despair  " 
occurring  justifies  Nash's  definition  of  "  the  epilogue,  De- 
spair " : 

"  But  soon  as  thought  of  thee  breeds  my  delight, 
And  my  young  soul  flutters  to  thee  his  nest, 
Most  rude  Despair,  my  daily  unbidden  guest, 
Clips  straight  my  wings,  straight  wraps  me  in  his  night." 

(No.  108.) 

Stella's  prudent  withdrawal  of  herself  from  Sidney's 
company  begins  to  work  with  salutary  effect  upon  his  pas- 
sion. As  that  cools  or  fades  for  want  of  nourishment,  so 
the  impulse  to  write  declines ;  and  the  poet's  sincerity  is 
nowhere  better  shown  than  in  the  sudden  and  ragged  end- 
ing of  his  work.  I  doubt  whether  the  two  sonnets  on  De- 
sire and  Love,  which  Dr.  Grosart  has  transferred  from  the 
Miscellaneous  Poems  and  printed  here  as  Nos.  109  and  110, 
were  really  meant  to  form  part  of  Astrophel  and  Stella. 
They  strike  me  as  retrospective,  composed  in  a  mood  of 
stern  and  somewhat  bitter  meditation  on  the  past,  and  prob- 


vi.]  "ASTROPHEL  AND  STELLA."  14S 

ably  after  some  considerable  interval ;  yet  the  Latin  epi- 
graph attached  to  the  second  has  the  force  of  an  envoy. 
Moreover,  they  undoubtedly  represent  the  attitude  of  mind  ' 
in  which  Sidney  bade  farewell  to  unhallowed  love,  and 
which  enabled  him  loyally  to  plight  his  troth  to  Frances 
Walsingham.  Therefore  it  will  not  be  inappropriate  to 
close  the  analysis  of  his  love  poetry  upon  this  note.  No 
one,  reading  them,  will  fail  to  be  struck  with  their  resem- 
blance to  Shakespeare's  superb  sonnets  upon  Lust  and 
Death  ("  The  expense  of  spirit "  and  "  Poor  soul,  thou  cen- 
tre "),  which  are  perhaps  the  two  most  completely  power- 
ful sonnets  in  our  literature : 

"  Thou  blind  man's  mark,  thou  fool's  self-chosen  snare, 

Fond  fancy's  scum,  and  dregs  of  scattered  thought; 
Band  of  all  evils  ;  cradle  of  causeless  care ; 

Thou  web  of  will  whose  end  is  never  wrought! 
Desire,  desire  !     I  have  too  dearly  bought 

With  price  of  mangled  mind  thy  worthless  ware; 
Too  long,  too  long,  asleep  thou  hast  me  brought, 

Who  shouldst  my  mind  to  higher  things  prepare. 
But  yet  in  vain  thou  hast  my  ruin  sought ; 

In  vain  thou  mad'st  me  to  vain  things  aspire  ; 

In  vain  thou  kindlest  all  thy  smoky  fire : 
For  virtue  hath  this  better  lesson  taught — 

Within  myself  to  seek  my  only  hire, 

Desiring  naught  but  how  to  kill  desire. 

"Leave  me,  0  Love,  which  readiest  but  to  dust; 

And  thou,  my  mind,  aspire  to  higher  things ; 
Grow  rich  in  that  which  never  taketh  rust ; 

Whatever  fades,  but  fading  pleasure  brings. 
Draw  in  thy  beams,  and  humble  all  thy  might 

To  that  sweet  yoke  where  lasting  freedoms  be, 
Which  breaks  the  clouds  and  opens  forth  the  light, 

That  doth  but  shine  and  give  us  sight  to  see. 


144  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

0  take  fast  hold ;  let  that  light  be  thy  guide 

In  this  small  course  which  birth  draws  out  to  death ; 

And  think  how  evil  becometh  him  to  slide, 

Who  seeketh  heaven  and  comes  of  heavenly  breath. 

Then  farewell,  world  !  thy  uttermost  I  see  : 

Eternal  Love,  maintain  thy  life  in  me  !" 

"SPLENDIDIS    LONGUM   VALEDICO 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"THE  DEFENCE  OF  POESY." 

FULKE  GREVILLE,  touching  upon  the  Arcadia,  says  that 
Sidney  "  purposed  no  monuments  of  books  to  the  world." 
"  If  his  purpose  had  been  to  leave  his  memory  in  books,  I 
am  confident,  in  the  right  use  of  logic,  philosophy,  history, 
and  poesy,  nay  even  in  the  most  ingenious  of  mechanical 
arts  he  would  have  showed  such  tracts  of  a  searching  and 
judicious  spirit  as  the  professors  of  every  faculty  would 
have  striven  no  less  for  him  than  the  seven  cities  did  to 
have  Homer  of  their  sept.  But  the  truth  is :  his  end  was 
not  writing,  even  while  he  wrote ;  nor  his  knowledge  mould- 
ed for  tables  or  schools ;  but  both  his  wit  and  understand- 
ing bent  upon  his  heart,  to  make  himself  and  others,  not 
in  words  or  opinion,  but  in  lire~and  action,  good  and  great." 
V  His  end  was  not  writing,  even  while  he  wrote."  This 
is  certain;  the  whole  tenor  of  Sidney's  career  proves  his 
determination  to  subordinate  self-culture  of  every  kind  to 
the  ruling  purpose  of  useful  public  action.  It  will  also  be 
remembered  that  none  of  his  compositions  were  printed 
during  his  lifetime  or  with  his  sanction.  Yet  he  had  re- 
ceived gifts  from  nature  which  placed  him,  as  a  critic,  high 
above  the  average  of  his  contemporaries.  He  was  no  mean 
poet  when  he  sang  as  love  dictated.  He  had  acquired  and 
assimilated  various  stores  of  knowledge.  He  possessed  an 
7* 


146  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

exquisite  and  original  taste,  a  notable  faculty  for  the  mar- 
shalling of  arguments,  and  a  persuasive  eloquence  in  expo- 
sition. These  qualities  inevitably  found  their  exercise  in 
writing;  and  of  all  Sidney's  writings  the  one  with  which 
we  have  to  deal  now  is  the  ripest. 

Judging  by  the  style  alone,  I  should  be  inclined  to 
place  The  Defence  of  Poesy  among  his  later  works.  But 
we  have  no  certain  grounds  for  fixing  the  year  of  its  compo- 
sition. Probably  the  commonly  accepted  date  of  1581  is 
the  right  one.  In  the  year  1579  Stephen  Gosson  dedicated 
to  Sidney,  without  asking  his  permission,  an  invective 
against  "  poets,  pipers,  players,  and  their  excusers,"  which 
he  called  The  School  of  Abuse.  Spenser  observes  that  Gos- 
son "  was  for  his  labour  scorned ;  if  at  least  it  lie  in  the 
goodness  of  that  nature  to  scorn.  Such  folly  is  it  not  to 
regard  aforehand  the  nature  and  quality  of  him  to  whom 
we  dedicate  our  books."  It  is  possible  therefore  that  The 
School  of  Abuse  and  other  treatises  emanating  from  Puri- 
tan hostility  to  culture,  suggested  this  Apology.  Sidney 
rated  poetry  highest  among  the  functions  of  the  human 
intellect.  His  name  had  been  used  to  give  authority  and 
currency  to  a  clever  attack  upon  poets.  He  felt  the  weight 
of  argument  to  be  on  his  side,  and  was  conscious  of  his 
ability  to  conduct  the  cause.  With  .what  serenity  of  spirit, 
sweetness  of  temper,  humour,  and  easy  strength  of  style — 
at  one  time  soaring  to  enthusiasm,  at  another  playing  with 
his  subject, — he  performed  the  task,  can  only  be  appreci- 
ated by  a  close  perusal  of  the  essay.  It  is  indeed  the 
model  for  such  kinds  of  composition — a  work  which  com- 
bines the  quaintness  and  the  blitheness  of  Elizabethan  lit- 
erature with  the  urbanity  and  reserve  of  a  later  period. 

Sidney  begins  by  numbering  himself  among  "the  paper- 
blurrers,"  "  who,  I  know  not  by  what  mischance,  in  these 


vii.]  "  THE  DEFENCE  OF  POESY."  147 

my  not  old  years  and  idlest  times,  having  slipped  into  the 
title  of  a  poet,  am  provoked  to  say  something  unto  you  in 
the  defence  of  that  my  unelected  vocation."  Hence  it  is 
his  duty  "  to  make  a  pitiful  defence  of  poor  poetry,  which 
from  almost  the  highest  estimation  of  learning,  is  fallen  to 
be  the  laughing-stock  of  children."  Underlying  Sidney's 
main  argument  we  find  the  proposition  that  to  attack  poe- 
try is  the  same  as  attacking  culture  in  general ;  therefore, 
at  the  outset,  he  appeals  to  all  professors  of  learning:  will 
they  inveigh  against  the  mother  of  arts  and  sciences,  the 
"first  nurse,  whose  milk  by  little  and  little  enabled  them 
to  feed  afterwards  of  tougher  knowledge?"  Musseus,  Ho- 
mer, and  Hesiod  lead  the  solemn  pomp  of  the  Greek  writ- 
ers. Dante,  Petrarch,  and  Boccaccio  in  Italy,  Gower  and 
Chaucer  in  England  came  before  prose -authors.  The 
earliest  philosophers,  Empedocles  and  Parmenides,  Solon 
and  Tyrtasus,  committed  their  metaphysical  speculations, 
their  gnomic  wisdom,  their  martial  exhortation,  to  verse. 
And  even  Plato,  if  rightly  considered,  was  a  poet :  "  in  the 
body  of  his  work,  though  the  inside  and  strength  were 
philosophy,  the  skin  as  it  were,  and  beauty,  depended  most 
of  poetry."  Herodotus  called  his  books  by  the  names  of 
the  Muses :  "  both  he  and  all  the  rest  that  followed  him, 
either  stole  or  usurped  of  poetry  their  passionate  describ- 
ing of  passions,  the  many  particularities  of  battles  which 
no  man  could  affirm."  They  also  put  imaginary  speeches 
into  the  months  of  kings  and  captains.  The  very  names 
which  the  Greeks  and  Romans,  "the  authors  of  most  of 
our  sciences,"  gave  to  poets,  show  the  estimation  in  which 
they  held  them.  The  Romans  called  the  poet  vates,  or 
prophet ;  the  Greeks  TTODJT-J/C,  or  maker,  a  word,  by  the  way, 
which  coincides  with  English  custom.  What  can  be  high- 
er in  the  scale  of  human  understanding  than  this  faculty  of 


148  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

making?  Sidney  enlarges  upon  its  significance,  following 
a  line  of  thought  which  Tasso  summed  up  in  one  memora- 
ble sentence :  u  There  is  no  Creator  but  God  and  the  Poet." 

He  now  advances  a  definition,  which  is  substantially  the 
same  as  Aristotle's:  "  Poesy  is  an  art  of  imitation ;  that  is 
to  say,  a  representing,  counterfeiting,  or  figuring  forth:  to 
speak  metaphorically,  a  speaking  picture;  with  this  end  to 
teach  and  delight."  Of  poets  there  have  been  three  gen- 
eral kinds :  first,  "  they  that  did  imitate  the  inconceivable 
excellences  of  God  ;"  secondly,  "  they  that  deal  with  matter 
philosophical,  either  moral  or  natural  or  astronomical  or 
historical ;"  thirdly,  "  right  poets  .  .  .  which  most  proper- 
ly do  imitate,  to  teach  and  delight ;  and  to  imitate,  borrow 
nothing  of  what  is,  hath  been,  or  shall  be ;  but  range  only, 
reined  with  learned  discretion,  into  the  divine  consideration 
of  what  may  be  and  should  be."  The  preference  given  to 
the  third  kind  of  poets  may  be  thus  explained :  The  first 
group  are  limited  to  setting  forth  fixed  theological  con-^ 
ceptions ;  the  second  have  their  material  supplied  them  by 
the  sciences ;  but  the  third  are  the  makers  and  creators  of 
ideals  for  warning  and  example. 

Poets  may  also  be  classified  according  to  the  several 
species  of  verse.  But  this  implies  a  formal  and  misleading 
limitation.  Sidney,  like  Milton  and  like  Shelley,  will  not 
have  poetry  confined  to  metre :  "  apparelled  verse  being 
but  an  ornament,  and  no  cause  to  poetry ;  since  there  have 
been  many  most  excellent  poets  that  have  never  versified, 
and  now  swarrn  many  versifiers  that  need  never  answer  to 
the  name  of  poets."  Xenophon's  "  Cyropaedia,"  the 
"  Theagenes  and  Chariclea"  of  Heliodorus,  are  cited  as  true 
poems;  uand  yet  both  these  wrote  in  prose. n,  "It  is  not 
rhyming  and  versing  that  maketh  a  poet ;  Wit  it  is  that 
feigning  notable  images  of  virtues,  vices,  or  what  else,  with  ) 


vn.]  "THE  DEFENCE  OF  POESY."  149 

that  delightful  teaching,  which  must  be  the  right  describ- 
ing note  to  "know  a  poet  by."  Truly  "  the  senate  of  poets 
have  chosen  verse  as  their  fittest  raiment ;"  but  this  they 
did,  because  they  meant,  "  as  in  matter  they  passed  all  in 
all,  so  in  manner  to  go  beyond  them."  "  Speech,  next  to 
reason,  is  the  greatest  gift  bestowed  upon  mortality  ;"  and 
verse  "  which  most  doth  polish  that  blessing  of  speech,"  is, 
therefore,  the  highest  investiture  of  poetic  thought. 

Having  thus  defined  his  conception  of  poetry,  Sidney 
inquires  into  the  purpose  of  all  learning.  "  This  purify- 
ing of  wit,  this  enriching  of  memory,  enabling  of  judg- 
ment, and  enlarging  of  conceit,  which  commonly  we  call 
learning,  under  what  name  soever  it  come  forth,  or  to 
what  immediate  end  soever  it  be  directed ;  the  final  end 
is  to  lead  and  draw  us  to  as  high  a  perfection  as  our  de- 
generate souls,  made  worse  by  their  clay  lodgings,  can  be 
capable  of."  All  the  branches  of  learning  subserve  the 
royal  or  architectonic  science,  "  which  stands,  as  I  think, 
in  the  knowledge  of  a  man's  self  in  the  ethic  and  politic 
consideration,  with  the  end  of  well-doing,  and  not  of  well- 
knowing  only."  If  then  virtuous  action  be  the  ultimate 
object  of  all  our  intellectual  endeavours,  can  it  be  shown 
that  the  poet  contributes  above  all  others  to  this  exalted 
aim  ?  Sidney  thinks  it  can. 

Omitting  divines  and  jurists,  for  obvious  reasons,  he 
finds  that  the  poet's  only  competitors  are  philosophers  and 
historians.  It  therefore  now  behoves  him  to  prove  that 
poetry  contributes  more  to  the  formation  of  character  for 
virtuous  action  that  either  philosophy  or  history.  The 
argument  is  skilfully  conducted,  and  developed  with  nice 
art;  but  it  amounts  in  short  to  this,  that  while  philosophy 
is  too  abstract  and  history  is  too  concrete,  poetry  takes 
the  just  path  between  these  extremes,  and  combines  their 


150  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

methods  in  a  harmony  of  more  persuasive  force  than  either. 
"  Now  doth  the  peerless  poet  perform  both ;  for  whatso- 
ever the  philosopher  saith  should  be  done,  he  giveth  a  per- 
fect picture  of  it,  by  some  one  whom  he  presupposeth  it 
was  done,  so  as  he  conpleth  the  general  notion  with  the 
particular  example."  "  Anger,  the  Stoics  said,  was  a  short 
madness ;  but  let  Sophocles  bring  you  Ajax  on  a  stage, 
killing  or  whipping  sheep  and  oxen,  thinking  them  the 
army  of  Greeks,  with  their  chieftains  Agamemnon  and 
Menelaus;  and  tell  me  if  you  have  not  a  more  familiar 
insight  into  anger  than  finding  in  the  schoolmen  his  genius 
and  difference  ?"  Even  Christ  used  parables  and  fables  for 
the  firmer  inculcation  of  his  divine  precepts,  If  philoso- 
phy is  too  much  occupied  with  the  universal,  history  is 
too  much  bound  to  the  particular.  It  dares  not  go  be- 
yond what  was,  may  not  travel  into  what  might  or  should 
be.  Moreover,  "  history  being  captived  to  the  truth  of  a 
foolish  world,  is  many  times  a  terror  from  well-doing,  and 
an  encouragment  to  unbridled  wickedness."  It  cannot 
avoid  revealing  virtue  overwhelmed  with  calamity  and  vice 
in  prosperous  condition.  Poetry  labours  not  under  the 
same  restrictions.  Her  ideals,  delightfully  presented,  en- 
tering the  soul  with  the  enchanting  strains  of  music,  "set 
the  mind  forward  to  that  which  deserves  to  be  called  and 
accounted  good."  In  fine :  "  as  virtue  is  the  most  excel- 
lent resting-place  for  all  worldly  learning  to  make  his  end 
of,  so  poetry,  being  the  most  familiar  to  teach  it,  and  most 
princely  to  move  towards  it,  in  the  most  excellent  work  is 
,the  most  excellent  workman." 

Sidney  next  passes  the  various  species  of  poems  in  re- 
View  ;  the  pastoral ;  "  the  lamenting  elegiac ;"  "  the  bitter 
but  wholesome  iambic ;"  the  satiric ;  the  comic,  "  whom 
naughty  play-makers  and  stage-keepers  have  justly  made 


VIL]  UTIIE  DEFENCE  OF  POESY."  151 

odious ;"  "  the  high  and  excellent  tragedy,  that  openeth 
the  greatest  wounds,  and  showeth  forth  the  ulcers  that  are 
covered  with  tissue — that  inaketh  kings  fear  to  be  tyrants, 
and  tyrants  to  manifest  their  tyrannical  humours — that 
with  stirring  the  effects  of  admiration  and  commiseration, 
teacheth  the  uncertainty  of  this  world,  and  upon  how 
weak  foundations  gilded  roofs  are  builded ;"  the  lyric, 
"  who  with  his  tuned  lyre  and  well-accorded  voice  giveth 
praise,  the  reward  of  virtue,  to  virtuous  acts — who  giveth 
moral  precepts  and  natural  problems  —  who  sometimes 
raiseth  up  his  voice  to  the  height  of  the  heavens,  in  sing- 
ing the  lauds  of  the  immortal  God ;"  the  epic  or  heroic, 
"  whose  very  name,  I  think,  should  daunt  all  backbiters  .  .  . 
which  is  not  only  a  kind,  but  the  best  and  most  accom- 
plished kind  of  poetry."  He  calls  upon  the  detractors  of 
poesy  to  bring  their  complaints  ^against  these  several  sorts, 
and  to  indicate  in  each  of  them  its  errors.  What  they 
may  allege  in  disparagement,  he  meets  with  chosen  argu- 
ments, among  which  we  can  select  his  apology  for  the 
lyric.  "  Certainly,  I  must  confess  my  own  barbarousness  : 
I  never  heard  the  old  song  of  *  Percy  and  Douglas '  that  I 
found  not  my  heart  moved  more  than  with  a  trumpet;1 
and  yet  it  is  sung  but  by  some  blind  crowder,  with  no 
rougher  voice  than  rude  style ;  which  being  so  evil-appar- 
elled in  the  dust  and  cobweb  of  that  uncivil  age,  what 
would  it  work,  trimmed  in  the  gorgeous  eloquence  of 
Pindar?" 

Having  reached  this  point,  partly  on  the  way  of  argu- 
ment, partly  on  the  path  of  appeal  and  persuasion,  Sidney 
halts  to  sum  his  whole  position  up  in  one  condensed  para- 
graph : 

u  Since,  shen,  poetry  is  of  all  human  learnings  the  most    ancient 
and  of  most  fatherly  antiquity,  as  from  whence  other  learnings  have 
37 


152  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

taken  their  beginnings  ;  since  it  is  so  universal  that  no  learned  na- 
tion doth  despise  it,  nor  barbarous  nation  is  without  it ;  since  both 
Roman  and  Greek  gave  such  divine  names  unto  it,  the  one  of  prophe- 
sying, the  other  of  making,  and  that  indeed  that  name  of  making  is  fit 
for  him,  considering,  that  where  all  other  arts  retain  themselves  with- 
in their  subject,  and  receive,  as  it  were,  their  being  from  it,  the  poet 
only,  only  bringeth  his  own  stuff,  and  doth  not  learn  a  conceit  out  of 
a  matter,  but  maketh  matter  for  a  conceit ;  since  neither  his  descrip- 
tion nor  end  containeth  any  evil,  the  thing  described  cannot  be  evil ; 
since  his  effects  be .  so  good  as  to  teach  goodness,  and  delight  the 
learners  of  it ;  since  therein  (namely  in  moral  doctrine,  the  chief  of 
all  knowledges)  he  doth  not  only  far  pass  the  historian,  but,  for  in- 
structing, is  well  nigh  comparable  to  the  philosopher ;  for  moving, 
leaveth  him  behind  him ;  since  the  Holy  Scripture  (wherein  there  is 
no  uncleanness)  hath  whole  parts  in  it  poetical,  and  that  even  our 
Saviour  Christ  vouchsafed  to  use  the  flowers  of  it ;  since  all  his  kinds 
are  not  only  in  their  united  forms,  but  in  their  severed  dissections 
fully  commendable ;  I,  think,  and  think  I  think  rightly,  the  laurel 
crown  appointed  for  triumphant  captains,  doth  worthily,  of  all  other 
learnings,  honour  the  poet's  triumph." 

Objections  remain  to  be  combated  in  detail.  Sidney 
chooses  one  first,  which  offers  no  great  difficulty.  The 
detractors  of  poetry  gird  at  "  rhyming  and  versing."  He 
has  already  laid  it  down  that "  one  may  be  a  poet  without 
versing,  and  a  versifier  without  poetry."  But  he  has  also 
shown  why  metrical  language  should  be  regarded  as  the 
choicest  and  most  polished  mode  of  speech.  Verse,  too, 
fits  itself  to  music  more  properly  than  prose,  an^  far  exceeds 
it  "  in  the  knitting  up  of  the  memory."  Nor  is  rhyme  to 
be  neglected,  especially  in  modern  metres ;  seeing  that  it 
strikes  a  music  to  the  ear.  But  the  enemy  advances  heav- 
ier battalions.  Against  poetry  he  alleges  (1)  that  there 
are  studies  upon  which  sTThan  may  spend  his  time  more 
profitably ;  (2)  that  it  is  the  mother  of  lies ;  (3)  that  it  is 
the  nurse  of  abuse,  corrupting  the  fancy,  enfeebling  manli' 


vii.]  "THE  DEFENCE  OF  POESY."  153 

V 

ness,  and  instilling  pestilent  desires  into  the  soul ;  (4)  that 
Plato  banished  poets  from  his  commonwealth. 

These  four  points  are  taken  seriatim,  and  severally  an- 
swered. The  first  is  set  aside,  as  involving  a  begging  of 
the  question  at  issue.  To  the  second  Sidney  replies  "  par- 
adoxically, but  truly  I  think  truly,  that  of  all  writers  under 
the  sun  the  poet  is  the  least  liar;  and  though  he  would,  as 
a  poet,  can  scarcely  be  a  liar."  It  is  possible  to  err,  and 
to*  affirm  falsehood,  in  all  the  other  departments  of  knowl- 
edge ;  but  "  for  the  poet,  he  nothing  affirmeth,  and  there- 
fore nothing  lieth."  His  sphere  is  not  the  region  of 
ascertained  fact,  or  of  logical  propositions,  but  of  imag- 
ination and  invention.  He  labours  not  "  to  tell  you  what 
is,  or  is  not,  but  what  should,  or  should  not  be."  None  is 
so  foolish  as  to  mistake  the  poet's  world  for  literal  fact. 
"  What  child  is  there,  that  cometh  to  a  play,  and  seeing 
Thebes  written  in  great  letters  upon  an  old  door,  doth  be- 
lieve that  it  is  Thebes  ?"  The  third  point  is  more  weighty. 
Are  poets  blamable,  in  that  they  "  abuse  men's  wit,  train- 
ing it  to  a  wanton  sinfulness  and  lustful  love?"  Folk  say 
"the  comedies  rather  teach  than  reprehend  amorous  con- 
ceits ;  they  say  the  lyric  is  larded  with  passionate  sonnets ; 
the  elegiac  weeps  the  want  of  his  mistress ;  and  that  even 
to  the  heroical  Cupid  hath  ambitiously  climbed."  Here 
Sidney  turns  to  Love,  and,  as  though  himself  acknowledg- 
ing that  deity,  invokes  him  to  defend  his  own  cause.  Yet 
let  us  "grant  love  of  beauty  to  be  a  beastly  fault,"  let  us 
"grant  that  lovely  name  of  love  to  deserve  all  hateful  re- 
proaches," what  have  the  adversaries  gained  ?  Surely  they 
have  not  proved  "  that  poetry  abuseth  man's  wit,  but  that 
man's  wit  abuseth  poetry."  "  But  what !  shall  the  abuse 
of  a  thing  make  the  right  odious  ?"  Does  not  law,  does 
not  physic,  injure  man  every  day  by  the  abuse  of  ignorant 


154  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

praetisers  ?  "  Doth  not  God's  Word  abused  breed  heresy, 
and  His  name  abused  become  blasphemy  2"  Yet  these 
people  contend  that  before  poetry  came  to  infect  the  Eng- 
lish, "our  nation  had  set  their  heart's  delight  upon  action 
and  not  imagination,  rather  doing  things  worthy  to  be 
written  than  writing  things  fit  to  be  done."  But  when 
was  there  that  time  when  the  Albion  nation  was  without 
poetry  ?  Of  .a  truth,  this  argument  is  levelled  against  all 
learning  and  all  culture.  It  is  an  attack,  worthy  of  Goths 
or  Vandals,  upon  the  stronghold  of  the  intellect.  As  such, 
we  might  dismiss  it.  Let  us,  however,  remember  that 
"  poetry  is  the  companion  of  camps  :  I  dare  undertake,  Or- 
lando Furioso  or  honest  King  Arthur  will  never  displease 
a  soldier ;  but  the  quiddity  of  ens  and  prima  materia  will 
hardly  agree  with  a  corselet."  Alexander  on  his  Indian 
campaigns  left  the  living  Aristotle  behind  him,  but  slept 
with  the  dead  Homer  in  his  tent ;  condemned  Callisthenes 
to  death,  but  yearned  for  a  poet  to  commemorate  his  deeds. 
Lastly,  they  advance  Plato's  verdict  against  poets.  Plato, 
says-  Sidney, "  I  have  ever  esteemed  most  worthy  of  rever- 
ence ;  and  with  good  reason,  since  of  all  philosophers  he 
is  the  most  poetical."  Having  delivered  this  sly  thrust,  he 
proceeds :  "  first,  truly,  a  man  might  maliciously  object  that 
Plato,  being  a  philosopher,  was  a  natural  enemy  of  poets." 
Next  let  us  look  into  his  writings.  Has  any  poet  author- 
ised filthiness  more  abominable  than  one  can  find  in  the 
"Pbaedrus"  and*  the  "Symposium!"  "Again,  a  man 
might  ask  out  of  what  commonwealth  Plato  doth  banish 
them."  It  is  in  sooth  one  where  the  community  of  wom- 
en is  permitted  ;  and  "  little  should  poetical  sonnets  be  hurt- 
ful, when  a  man  might  have  what  woman  he  listed."  Af- 
ter thus  trifling  with  the  subject,  Sidney  points  out  that 
Plato  was  not  offended  with  poetry,  but  with  the  abuse  of 


VIL]  "  THE  DEFENCE  OF  POESY."  155 

it.     He  objected  to  the  crude  theology  and  the  monstrous 
ethics  of  the  myth-makers.     "  So  as  Plato,  banishing  the 
abuse  not  the  thing,  not  banishing  it,  but  giving  due  hon- 
our to  it,  shall  be  our  patron  and  not  our  adversary." 
Once  again  he  pauses,  to  recapitulate : 

"  Since  the  excellencies  of  poesy  may  be  so  easily  and  so  justly 
confirmed,  and  the  low^creeping  objections  so  soon  trodden  down  ;  it 
not  being  an  art  of  lies,  but  of  true  doctrine ;  not  of  effeminateness, 
but  of  notable  stirring  of  courage ;  not  of  abusing  man's  wit,  but  of 
strengthening  man's  wit ;  not  banished,  but  honoured  by  Plato ;  let 
us  rather  plant  more  laurels  for  to  ingarland  the  poets'  heads  (which 
honour  of  being  laureate,  as  besides  them  only  triumphant  captains 
were,  is  a  sufficient  authority  to  show  the  price  they  ought  to  be 
held  in)  than  suffer  the  ill-favoured  breath  of  such  wrong  speakers 
once  to  blow  upon  the  clear  springs  of  poesy." 

Then  he  turns  to  England.  Why  is  it  that  England,  "  the 
mother  of  excellent  minds,  should  be  grown  so  hard  a 
stepmother  to  poets  ?" 

"  Sweet  poesy,  that  hath  anciently  had  kings,  emperors,  senators, 
great  captains,  such  as,  besides  a  thousand  others,  David,  Adrian, 
Sophocles,  Germanicus,  not  only  to  favour  poets,  but  to  be  poets : 
and  of  our  nearer  times,  can  present  for  her  patrons,  a  Robert,  King 
of  Sicily ;  the  great  King  Francis  of  France ;  King  James  of  Scot- 
land ;  such  cardinals  as  Bembus  and  Bibiena ;  such  famous  preach- 
ers and  teachers  as  Beza  and  Melancthon ;  so  learned  philosophers 
as  Fracastorius  and  Scaliger ;  so  great  orators  as  Pontanus  and 
Huretus  ;  so  piercing  wits  as  George  Buchanan;  so  grave  counsellors 
as,  besides  many,  but  before  all,  that  Hospital  of  France ;  than  whom, 
I  think,  that  realm  never  brought  forth  a  more  accomplished  judg- 
ment more  firmly  builded  upon  virtue ;  I  say,  these,  with  numbers  of 
others,  not  only  to  read  others'  poesies,  but  to  poetise  for  others' 
reading :  that  poesy,  thus  embraced  in  all  other  places,  should  only 
find,  in  our  time,  a  hard  welcome  in  England,  I  think  the  very  earth 
laments  it,  and  therefore  decks  our  soil  with  fewer  laurels  than  it 
was  accustomed." 


156  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

The  true  cause  is  that  in  England  so  many  incapable  folk 
write  verses.  With  the  exception  of  the  Mirror  of  Magis- 
trates^ Lord  Surrey's  Lyrics,  and  The  Shepherd's  Kalendar, 
"  I  do  not  remember  to  have  seen  but  few  (to  speak  bold- 
ly) printed,  that  have  poetical  sinews  in  them."  At  this 
point  he  introduces  a  lengthy  digression  upon  the  stage, 
which,  were  we  writing  a  history  of  the  English  drama, 
ought  to  be  quoted  in  full.  It  is  interesting  because  it 
proves  how  the  theatre  occupied  Sidney's  thoughts ;  and 
yet  he  had  not  perceived  that  from  the  humble  plays 
of  the  people  an  unrivalled  flower  of  modern  art  was  about 
to  emerge.  The  Defence  of  Poesy  was  written  before 
Marlowe  created  the  romantic  drama;  before  Shakespeare 
arrived  in  London.  It  was' written  in  all  probability  be- 
fore its  author  could  have  attended  the  representation  of 
Greene's  and  Peele's  best  plays.  Gorboduc,  which  he 
praises  moderately  and  censures  with  discrimination,  seem- 
ed to  him  the  finest  product  of  dramatic  art  in  England, 
because  it  approached  the  model  of  Seneca  and  the  Italian 
tragedians.  For  the  popular  stage,  with  its  chaos  of  tragic 
and  comic  elements,  its  undigested  farrago  of  romantic  in- 
cidents and  involved  plots,  he  entertained  the  scorn  of  a 
highly-educated  scholar  and  a  refined  gentleman.  Yet  no 
one,  let  us  be  sure,  would  have  welcomed  Othello  and  The 
Merchant  of  Venice,  Volpone  and  A  Woman  Killed  with 
Kindness,  more  enthusiastically  than  Sidney,  had  his  life 
been  protracted  through  the  natural  span  of  mortality. 

Having  uttered  his  opinion  frankly  on  the  drama,  he  at- 
tacks the  "  courtesan-like  painted  affectation  "  of  the  Eng- 
lish at  his  time.  Far-fetched  words,  alliteration,  euphuistic 
similes  from  stones  and  beasts  and  plants,  fall  under  his  hon- 
est censure.  He  mentions  no  man.  But  he  is  clearly  aim- 
ing at  the  school  of  Lyly  and  the  pedants ;  for  he  pertinent- 


vii.]  "THE  DEFENCE  OF  POESY."  157 

ly  observes :  "  I  have  found  in  divers  small-learned  courtiers 
a  more  sound  style  than  in  some  professors  of  learning." 
Language  should  be  used,  not  to  trick  out  thoughts  with 
irrelevant  ornaments  or  to  smother  them  in  conceits,  but  to 
make  them  as  clear  and  natural  as  words  can  do.  It  is  a 
sin  against  our  mother  speech  to  employ  these  meretricious 
arts ;  for  whoso  will  look  dispassionately  into  the  matter, 
shall  convince  himself  that  English,  both  in  its  freedom 
from  inflections  and  its  flexibility  of  accent,  is  aptest  of  all 
modern  tongues  to  be  the  vehicle  of  simple  and  of  beauti- 
ful utterance. 

The  peroration  to  The  Defence  of  Poesy  is  an  argument 
addressed  to  the  personal  ambition  of  the  reader.  It  some- 
what falls  below  the  best  parts  of  the  essay  in  style,  and 
makes  no  special  claim  on  our  attention.  From  the  forego- 
ing analysis  it  will  be  seen  that  Sidney  attempted  to  cover 
a  wide  field,  combining  a  philosophy  of  art  with  a  practical 
review  of  English  literature.  Much  as  the  Italians  had  re- 
cently written  upon  the  theory  of  poetry,  I  do  not  remem- 
ber any  treatise  which  can  be  said  to  have  supplied  the 
material  or  suggested  the  method  of  this  apology.  England, 
of  course,  at  that  time  was  destitute  of  all  but  the  most 
meagre  textbooks  on  the  subject.  Great  interest  therefore 
attaches  to  Sidney's  discourse  as  the  original  outcome  of 
his  studies,  meditations,  literary  experience,  and  converse 
with  men  of  parts.  Though  we  may  not  be  prepared  to 
accept  each  of  his  propositions,  though  some  will  demur  to 
his  conception  of  the  artist's  moral  aim,  and  others  to  his 
inclusion  of  prose  fiction  in  the  definition  of  poetry,  while 
all  will  agree  in  condemning  his  mistaken  dramatic  theory, 
none  can  dispute  the  ripeness,  mellowness,  harmony,  and 
felicity  of  mental  gifts  displayed  in  work  at  once  so  concise 
and  so  compendious.  It  is  indeed  a  pity  that  English  lit- 


168  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

erature  then  furnished  but  slender  material  for  criticism. 
When  we  remember  that,  among  the  poems  of  the  English 
Renaissance,  only  Surrey's  Lyrics,  Gorboduc,  the  Mirror 
of  Magistrates,  and  The  Shepherd's  Kalendar  could  be 
praised  with  candour  (and  I  think  Sidney  was  right  in  this 
judgment),  we  shall  be  better  able  to  estimate  his  own  high 
position,  and  our  mental  senses  will  be  dazzled  by  the  achieve- 
ments of  the  last  three  centuries.  Exactly  three  centuries 
have  elapsed  since  Sidney  fell  at  Zutphen ;  and  who  shall 
count  the  poets  of  our  race,  stars  differing  indeed  in  glory, 
but  stars  that  stream  across  the  heavens  of  song  from  him 
to  us  in  one  continuous  galaxy  1 

Sir  Philip  Sidney  was  not  only  eminent  as  pleader,  crit- 
ic, and  poet.  He  also  ranked  as  the  patron  and  protector 
of  men  of  letters.  ^He'Xvas'  of  ~a  very  munificent  spirit," 
says  Aubrey, "  and  liberal  to  all  lovers  of  learning,  and  to 
those  that  pretended  to  any  acquaintance  with  Parnassus; 
insomuch  that  he  was  cloyed  and  surfeited  with  the  poet- 
asters of  those  days."  This  sentence  is  confirmed  by  the 
iri%fe^nal.>¥eit-&e&^vritten  on  his  death,  and  by  the  many 
books  which  were  inscribed  with  his  name.  A  list  of  these 
may  be  read  in  Dr.  Zouch's  Life.  It  is  enough  for  our 
purpose  to  enumerate  the  more  distinguished.  To  Sidney, 
Spenser  dedicated  the  first  fruits  of  his  genius,  and  Hak- 
luyt  the  first  collection  of  his  epoch-making  Voyages. 
Henri  Etienne,  who  was  pF-oud-ta-oaU  himself  the  friend  of 
Sidney,  placed  his  1576  edition  of  the  Greek  Testament 
and  his  1581  edition  of  Herodian  under  the  protection  of 
his  name.  Lord  Brooke,  long  after  his  friend's  death,  ded- 
icated his  collected  works  to  Sidney's  memory. ' 

Of  all  these  tributes  to  his  love  of  learning  the  most  in- 
teresting in  my  opinion  is  that  of  Giordano  Bruno.  This 
Titan  of  impassioned  speculation  passetH wo  "years  in  Lon- 


vii.]  "THE  DEFENCE  OF  POESY."  169 

don  between  1583  and  1585.  Here  he  composed,  and 
here  he  printed,  his  most  important  works  in  the  Italian 
tongue.  Two  of  these  he  presented,  with  pompous  com- 
mendatory epistles,  to  Sir  Philip  Sidney.  They  were  his 
treatise  upon  Ethics,  styled  Lo  Spaccio  delta  Bestia  Trion- 
fante^  and  his  discourse  upon  the  philosophic  enthusiasm, 
entitled  Gil  Eroici  Furori.  That  Bruno  belonged  to  Sid- 
ney's circle,  is  evident  from  the  graphic  account  he  gives 
of  a  supper  at  Fulke  Greville's  house,  in  the  dialogue  called 
La  Cena  delle  Oeneri.  His  appreciation  of  "  the  most  il- 
lustrious and  excellent  knight's  "  character  transpires  in  the 
following  phrase  from  one  of  his  dedications  :  "  the  natural 
bias  of  your  spirit,  which  is  truly  heroical."  Those  who 
know  what  the  word  eroica  implied  for  Bruno,  riot  only  of 
personal  courage,  but  of  sustained  and  burning  spiritual  pas- 
sion,will  appreciate  this  eulogy  by  one  of  the  most  penetrat- 
ing and  candid,  as  he  was  the  most  unfortunate  of  truth's 
martyrs.  Had  the  proportions  of  my  work  justified  such 
a  digression,  I  would  eagerly  have  collected  from  Bruno's 
Italian  discourses  those  paragraphs  which  cast  a  vivid  light 
upon  literary  and  social  life  in  England.  But  these  belong 
rather  to  Bruno's  than  to  Sidney's  biography. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

LAST    YEARS   AND    DEATH. 

AFTER  Sidney's  marriage  there  remained  but  little  more 
than  three  years  of  life  to  him.  The  story  of  this  period 
may  be  briefly  told.  Two  matters  of  grave  import  occupied 
his  mind.  These  were :  first,  the  menacing  attitude  of 
Spain  and  the  advance  of  the  Counter-Reformation ;  sec- 
ondly, a  project  of  American  Colonisation.  The  suspicious 
death  of  the  Duke  of  Anjou,  followed  by  the  murder  of 
the  Prince  of  Orange  in  1584,  rendered  Elizabeth's  interfer- 
ence in  the  Low  Countries  almost  imperative.  Philip  II. , 
assisted  by  the  powers  of  Catholicism,  and  served  in  secret 
by  the  formidable  Company  of  Jesus,  threatened  Europe  with 
the  extinction  of  religious  and  political  liberties.  It  was 
known  that,  sooner  or  later,  he  must  strike  a  deadly  blow 
at  England.  The  Armada  loomed  already  in  the  distance. 
But  how  was  he  to  be  attacked?  Sidney  thought  that 
Elizabeth  would  do  well  to  put  herself  at  the  head  of  a 
Protestant  alliance  against  what  Fulke  Greville  aptly  styled 
the  "  masked  triplicity  between  Spain,  Rome,  and  the  Jes- 
uitical faction  of  France."  He  also  strongly  recommended 
an  increase  of  the  British  navy  and  a  policy  of  protecting 
the  Huguenots  in  their  French  seaports.  But  he  judged 
the  Netherlands  an  ill-chosen  field  for  fighting  the  main 
duel  out  with  Spain.  There,  Philip  was  firmly  seated  in 


CHAP,  viii.]  LAST  YEARS  AND  DEATH.  161 

_well-furnished  cities,  where  he  could  mass  troops  and  muni- 
tions of  war  at  pleasure.  To  maintain  an  opposition  on 
the  side  of  Holland  was  of  course  necessary.  But  the  re- 
ally vulnerable  point  in  the  huge  Spanish  empire  seemed 
to  him  to  be  its  ill-defended  territory  in  the  West  Indies. 
Let  then  the  Protestant  League>if  possible,  be  placed  upon 
a  firmer  basis.  Let  war  in  the  Low  Countries  be  prosecut- 
ed without  remission.  But,  at  the  same  time,  let  the  Eng- 
lish use  their  strongest  weapon,  attack  by  sea.  Descents 
might  be  made  from  time  to  time  upon  the  Spanish  ports, 
as  Drake  had  already  harried  Vera  Cruz,  and  was  afterwards 
to  fall  on  Cadiz.  Buccaneering  and  filibustering  expedi- 
tions against  the  Spanish  fleets  which  brought  back  treas- 
ure across  the  Indian  main,  were  not  to  be  contemned. 
But  he  believed  that  the  most  efficient  course  would  be  to 
plant  a  colony  upon  the  American  continent,  which  should 
at  the  same  time  be  a  source  of  strength  to  England  and  a 
hostile  outpost  for  incursions  into  the  Spanish  settlements. 
Fulke  Greville  has  devoted  a  large  portion  of  his  Life  to  the 
analysis  of  Sidney's  opinions  on  these  subjects.  He  sums 
them  up  as  follows :  "  Upon  these  and  the  like  assumptions 
he  resolved  there  were  but  two  ways  left  to  frustrate  this 
ambitious  monarch's  designs.  The  one,  that  which  divert- 
ed Hannibal,  and  by  setting  fire  on  his  own  house  made 
him  draw  in  his  spirits  to  comfort  his  heart;  the  other, 
that  of  Jason,  by  fetching  away  his  golden  fleece  and  not 
suffering  any  one  man  quietly  to  enjoy  that  which  every 
man  so  much  affected." 

In  the  autumn  of  1584  Sidney  sat  again  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  where  he  helped  to  forward  the  bill  for  Raleigh's 
expedition  to  Virginia.  This  in  fact  was  an  important  step 
in  the  direction  of  his  favourite  scheme ;  for  his  view  of  the 
American  colony  was  that  it  should  be  a  real  "  plantation, 


162  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

not  like  an  asylum  for  fugitives,  a  bellum  piraticum  for 
banditti,  or  any  such  base  ramas  of  people;  but  as  an  em- 
porium for  the  confluence  of  all  nations  that  love  or  profess 
any  kind  of  virtue  or  commerce."  Parliament  next  year 
had  to  take  strong  measures  against  the  Jesuits,  who  were 
already  fomenting  secret  conspiracies  to  dethrone  or  assas- 
sinate the  queen.  The  session  ended  in  March,  and  in  April 
Raleigh  started  for  the  New  World.  Three  months  later 
Sidney  received  a  commission  to  share  the  Mastership  of 
the  Ordnance  with  his  uncle  Warwick.  He  found  that  de- 
partment of  the  public  service  in  a  lamentable  plight,  owing 
to  Elizabeth's  parsimony  ;  and  soon  after  his  appointment, 
he  risked  her  displeasure  by  firmly  pressing  for  a  thorough 
replenishment  of  the  stores  upon  which  England's  efficiency 
as  a  belligerent  would  depend. 

It  was  probably  in  this  year  that  Sidney  took  up  his 
pen  to  defend  his  uncle  Leicester  against  the  poisonous 
libel,  popularly  known  as  Leicester's  Commonwealth,  and 
generally  ascribed  to  the  Jesuit  Parsons.  We  possess  the 
rough  draft  of  his  discourse,  which  proves  convincingly 
that  he  at  least  was  persuaded  of  the  earl's  innocence.  He 
does  not  even  deign  to  answer  the  charges  of  "  dissimulation, 
hypocrisy,  adultery,  falsehood,  treachery,  poison,  rebellion, 
treason,  cowardice,  atheism,  and  what  not,"  except  by  a  flat 
denial,  and  a  contemptuous  interrogation  :  "  what  is  it  else 
but  such  a  bundle  of  railings,  as  if  it  came  from  the  mouth 
of  some  half  drunk  scold  in  a  tavern  ?"  By  far  the  larger 
portion  of  the  defence  is  occupied  with  an  elaborate  exhibi- 
tion of  the  pedigree  and  honours  of  the  House  of  Dudley, 
in  reply  to  the  hint  that  Edmund,  Leicester's  grandfather, 
was  basely  born.  Sidney,  as  we  have  seen,  set  great  store 
on  his  own  descent  from  the  Dudleys,  which  he  rated  high- 
er than  his  paternal  ancestry ;  and  this  aspersion  on  their 


viii.]  LAST  YEARS  AND  DEATH.  163 

origin  inspired  him  with  unmeasured  anger.  At  the  close 
of  the  pamphlet  he  throws  down  the  glove  to  his  anony- 
mous antagonist,  and  defies  him  to  single  combat.  "  And, 
.from  .the  date  of  this  writing,  imprinted  and  published,  I 
will  three  months  expect  thine  answer."  Horace  Walpole 
was  certainly  not  justified  in  calling  this  spirited,  but  ill- 
balanced  composition,  "  by  far  the  best  specimen  of  his 
abilities." 

June  1585  marked  an  era  in  the  foreign  policy  of  Eliza- 
beth. She  received  a  deputation  from  the  Netherlands, 
who  offered  her  the  sovereignty  of  the  United  Provinces  if 
she  would  undertake  their  cause.  This  offer  she  refused. 
But  the  recent  adhesion  of  the  French  Crown  to  what  was 
called  the  Holy  League,  rendered  it  necessary  that  she 
should  do  something.  Accordingly,  she  agreed  to  send  6000 
men  to  the  Low  Countries,  holding  Flushing  and  Brill  with 
the  Castle  of  Rammekins  in  pledge  for  the  repayment  of 
the  costs  of  this  expedition.  Sidney  began  now  to  be 
spoken  of  as  the  most  likely  governor  of  Flushing.  But 
at  this  moment  his  thoughts  were  directed  rather  to  the 
New  World  than  to  action  in  Flanders.  We  have  already 
seen  why  he  believed  it  best  to  attack  Spain  there.  A  let- 
ter written  to  him  by  Ralph  Lane  from  Virginia  echoes 
his  own  views  upon  this  topic.  The  governor  of  the  new 
plantation  strongly  urged  him  to  head  a  force  against  what 
Greville  called  "  that  rich  and  desert  West  Indian  mine." 
Passing  by  the  islands  of  St.  John  and  Hispaniola,  Lane 
had  observed  their  weakness.  "How  greatly  a  small  force 
would  garboil  him  here,  when  two  of  his  most  richest  and 
strongest  islands  took  such  alarms  of  us,  not  only  landing, 
but  dwelling  upon  them,  with  only  a  hundred  and  twenty 
men,  I  refer  it  to  your  judgment."  Sidney,  moreover,  had 
grown  to  distrust  Burleigh's  government  of  England. 


164  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

"  Nature,"  says  Grevillc,  "  guiding  his  eyes  first  to  his  na- 
tive country,  he  found  greatness  of  worth  and  place  coun- 
terpoised there  by  the  arts  of  power  and  favour.  The 
stirring  spirits  sent  abroad  as  fuel,  to  keep  the  flame  far 
off;  and  the  effeminate  made  judges  of  dangers  which  they 
fear,  and  honour  which  they  understand  not."  He  saw 
"  how  the  idle-censuring  faction  at  home  had  won  ground 
of  the  active  adventurers  abroad  ;"  he  perceived  the  queen's 
"governors  to  sit  at  home  in  their  soft  chairs,  playing  fast 
and  loose  with  them  that  ventured  their  lives  abroad." 
All  these  considerations  put  together  made  him  more  than 
lukewarm  about  the  Netherlands  campaign,  and  less  than 
eager  to  take  office  under  so  egotistical  an  administration. 
It  was  his  cherished  scheme  to  join  in  some  private  en- 
terprise, the  object  of  which  should  be  the  enfeeblement 
of  Spain  and  the  strengthening  of  England  beyond  the 
Atlantic. 

The  thoughts  which  occupied  his  mind  took  definite 
shape  in  the  summer  of  1585.  "The  next  step  which  he 
intended  into  the  world  was  an  expedition  of  his  own  pro- 
jecting ;  wherein  he  fashioned  the  whole  body,  with  pur- 
pose to  become  head  of  it  himself.  I  mean  the  last 
employment  but  one  of  Sir  Francis  Drake  to  the  West 
Indies."  With  these  words  Greville  introduces  a  minute 
account  of  Sidney's  part  in  that  famous  adventure.  He 
worked  hard  at  the  project,  stirring  up  the  several  passions 
which  might  induce  men  of  various  sympathies  to  furnish 
assistance  by  money  or  by  personal  participation. 

"To  martial  men  he  opened  wide  the  door  of  sea  and  land  for 
fame  and  conquest.  To  the  nobly  ambitious,  the  far  stage  of  Ameri- 
ca to  win  honour  in.  To  the  religious  divines,  besides  a  new  apostol- 
ical calling  of  the  lost  heathen  to  the  Christian  faith,  a  large  field  of 
reducing  poor  Christians  misled  by  the  idolatry  of  Rome  to  their 


VIIL]  LAST  YEARS  AND  DEATH.  165 

mother  primitive  church.  To  the  ingeniously  industrious,  variety  of 
natural  riches  for  new  mysteries  and  manufactures  to  work  upon. 
To  the  merchant,  with  a  simple  people  a  fertile  and  unexhausted 
earth.  To  the  fortune  -  bound,  liberty.  To  the  curious,  a  fruitful 
work  of  innovation.  Generally,  the  word  gold  was  an  attractive  ada- 
mant to  make  men  venture  that  which  they  have  in  hope  to  grow  rich 
by  that  which  they  have  not." 

Moreover  he  "  won  thirty  gentlemen  of  great  blood  and 
state  here  in  England,  every  man  to  sell  one  hundred 
pounds  land"  for  fitting  out  a  fleet.  While  firmly  resolved 
to  join  the  first  detachment  which  should  sail  from  Plym- 
outh, he  had  to  keep  his  plans  dark ;  for  the  queen  would 
not  hear  of  his  engaging  in  such  ventures.  It  was  accord- 
ingly agreed  between  him  and  Sir  Francis  that  the  latter 
should  go  alone  to  Plymouth,  and  that  Sir  Philip  should 
meet  him  there  upon  some  plausible  excuse.  When  they 
had  weighed  anchor,  Sidney  was  to  share  the  chief  com- 
mand with  Drake.  Sir  Francis  in  due  course  of  time  set 
off ;  and  early  in  September  he  sent  a  message  praying  ur- 
gently for  his  associate's  presence.  It  so  happened  that 
just  at  this  time  Don  Antonio  of  Portugal  was  expected  at 
Plymouth,  and  Philip  obtained  leave  to  receive  him  there. 
From  this  point  I  shall  let  Fulke  Greville  tell  the  story  in 
his  own  old-fashioned  language  : — 

"  Yet  I  that  had  the  honour,  as  of  being  bred  with  him  from  his 
youth,  so  now  by  his  own  choice  of  all  England  to  be  his  loving  and 
beloved  Achates  in  this  journey,  observing  the  countenance  of  this 
gallant  mariner  more  exactly  than  Sir  Philip's  leisure  served  him  to 
do,  after  we  were  laid  in  bed  acquainted  him  with  my  observation  of 
the  discountenance  and  depression  which  appeared  in  Sir  Francis,  as 
if  our  coming  were  both  beyond  his  .expectation  and  desire.  Never- 
theless that  ingenuous  spirit  of  Sir  Philip's,  though  apt  to  give  me 
credit,  yet  not  apt  to  discredit  others,  made  him  suspend  his  own  and 
labour  to  change  or  qualify  by  judgment ;  till  within  some  few  days 


166  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

after,  finding  the  ships  neither  ready  according  to  promise,  nor  pos- 
sibly to  be  made  ready  in  many  days,  and  withal  observing  some 
sparks  of  false  fire  breaking  out  from  his  yoke-fellow  daily,  it  pleased 
him  in  the  freedom  of  our  friendship  to  return  me  my  own  stock 
with  interest. 

"  All  this  while  Don  Antonio  landed  not ;  the  fleet  seemed  to  us, 
like  the  weary  passengers'  inn,  still  to  go  farther  from  our  desires ; 
letters  came  from  the  Court  to  hasten  it  away  ;  but  it  may  be  the 
leaden  feet  and  nimble  thoughts  of  Sir  Francis  wrought  in  the  day, 
and  unwrought  by  night,  while  he  watched  an  opportunity  to  discov- 
er us  without  being  discovered. 

"  For  within  a  few  days  after,  a  post  steals  up  to  the  Court,  upon 
whose  arrival  an  alarm  is  presently  taken :  messengers  sent  away  to 
stay  us,  or  if  we  refused,  to  stay  the  whole  fleet.  Notwithstanding 
this  first  Mercury,  his  errand  being  partly  advertised  to  Sir  Philip  be- 
forehand, was  intercepted  upon  the  way;  his  letters  taken  from  him 
by  two  resolute  soldiers  in  mariners'  apparel,  brought  instantly  to 
Sir  Philip,  opened  and  read.  The  next  was  a  more  imperial  mandate, 
carefully  conveyed  and  delivered  to  himself  by  a  peer  of  this  realm; 
carrying  with  it  in  the  one  hand  grace,  the  other  thunder.  The  grace 
was  an  offer  of  an  instant  employment  under  his  uncle,  then  going 
general  into  the  Low  Countries ;  against  which  as  though  he  would 
gladly  have  demurred,  yet  the  confluence  of  reason,  transcendency  of 
power,  fear  of  staying  the  whole  fleet,  made  him  instantly  sacrifice 
all  these  self-places  to  the  duty  of  obedience." 

In  plain  words,  then,  Sir  Francis  Drake,  disliking  the 
prospect  of  an  equal  in  command,  played  Sir  Philip  Sidney 
false  by  sending  private  intelligence  to  Court.  The  queen 
expressed  her  will  so  positively  that  Sidney  had  to  yield. 
At  the  same  time  it  was  settled  that  he  should  go  into  the 
Netherlands,  under  his  uncle  Leicester,  holding  her  Majes- 
ty's commission  as  Governor  of  Flushing  and  Rammekins. 
By  this  rapid  change  of  events  his  destiny  was  fixed. 
Drake  set  sail  on  the  14th  of  September.  Two  months 
later,  on  the  16th  of  November,  Sidney  left  England  for 
his^post  in  the  Low  Countries.  I  ought  here  to  add  that 


nil.]  LAST  YEARS  AND  DEATH.  167 

at  some  time  during  this  busy  summer  his  daughter  Eliza- 
beth, afterwards  Countess  of  Rutland,  was  born. 

Sidney's  achievements  in  the  Netherlands,  except  as 
forming  part  of  his  short  life,  claim  no  particular  atten- 
tion. He  was  welcomed  by  Count  Maurice  of  Nassau,  the 
eldest  son  of  William,  Prince  of  Orange ;  and  gleanings 
from  letters  of  the  time  show  that  folk  expected  much 
from  his  activity  and  probity.  But  he  enjoyed  narrow 
scope  for  the  employment  of  his  abilities.  Rammekins,  the 
fortress  which  commanded  Flushing,  was  inadequately  fur- 
nished and  badly  garrisoned.  The  troops  were  insufficient, 
and  so  ill-paid  that  mutinies  were  always  imminent.  In 
one  of  his  despatches,  urgently  demanding  fresh  supplies, 
he  says :  "  I  am  in  a  garrison  as  much  able  to  command 
Flushing  as  the  Tower  is  to  answer  for  London."  The 
Dutch  government  did  not  please  him  :  he  found  "  the  peo- 
ple far  more  careful  than  the  government  in  all  things 
touching  the  public  welfare.'1  Wj^  frhft  plflin  speech  that 
was  habitual  to  ..him,  he  demanded  more  expenditure  of 
English  money.  This  irritated  the  queen,  and  gave  his 
enemies  at  Court  occasion  to  condemn  him  in  his  absence 
as  ambitious  and  proud.  He  began  to  show  signs  of  im- 
patience with  Elizabeth.  "  If  her  Majesty  were  the  fount- 
ain, I  would  fear,  considering  what  I  daily  find,  that  we 
should  wax  dry."  This  bitter  taunt  he  vented  in  a  letter 
to  Sir  Francis  Walsingham.  Meanwhile  the  Earl  of  Leices- 
ter arrived  upon  the  10th  of  December,  and  made  mat- 
ters worse.  He  laid  himself  out  for  honours  of  all  sorts, 
accepting  the  title  of  Governor-General  over  the  United 
Provinces,  and  coquetting  with  some  vague  scheme  of  being 
chosen  for  their  sovereign.  Imposing  but  impotent,  Leicester 
had  no  genius  for  military  affairs.  The  winter  of  1585—86 

dragged  through,  with  nothing  memorable  to  relate. 
38 


168  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

The  following  season,  however,  was  marked  by  several 
important  incidents  in  Philip  Sidney's  private  life.  First, 
Lady  Sidney  joined  her  husband  at  Flushing.  Then  on 
the  5th  of  May  Sir  Henry  Sidney  died  in  the  bishop's 
palace  at  Worcester.  His  body  was  embalmed  and  sent 
to  Penshurst.  His  heart  was  buried  at  Ludlow ;  his  en- 
trails in  the  precincts  of  Worcester  Cathedral.  So  passed 
from  life  Elizabeth's  sturdy  servant  in  Ireland  and  Wales ; 
a  man,  as  I  conceive  him,  of  somewhat  limited  capacity 
and  stubborn  temper,  but  true  as  steel,  and  honest  in  the 
discharge  of  very  trying  duties.  Later  in  the  same  year, 
upon  the  9th  of  August,  Lady  Mary  Sidney  yielded  up  her 
gentle  spirit.  Of  her  there  is  nothing  to  be  written  but 
the  purest  panegyric.  Born  of  the  noblest  blood,  surviv- 
ing ambitious  relatives  who  reached  at  royalty  and  perished, 
losing  health  and  beauty  in  the  service  of  an  exacting 
queen,  suffering  poverty  at  Court,  supporting  husband  and 
children  through  all  trials  with  wise  counsel  and  sweet 
hopeful  temper,  she  emerges  with  pale  lustre  from  all  the 
actors  of  that  time  to  represent  the  perfect  wife  and  moth- 
er in  a  lady  of  unpretending,  but  heroic,  dignity.  Sidney 
would  have  been  the  poorer  for  the  loss  of  these  parents, 
if  his  own  life  had  been  spared.  As  it  was,  he  survived 
his  mother  but  two  months. 

In  July  he  distinguished  himself  by  the  surprise  and 
capture  of  the  little  town  of  Axel.  Leicester  rewarded 
him  for  this  service  with  the  commission  of  colonel.  Eliza- 
beth resented  his  promotion.  She  wished  the  colonelcy  for 
Count  Hohenlohe,  or  Hollock,  a  brave  but  drunken  soldier. 
Walsingharn  wrote  upon  the  occasion :  "  She  layeth  the 
blame  upon  Sir  Philip,  as  a  thing  by  him  ambitiously 
sought.  I-  see  her  Majesty  very  apt  upon  every  light  oc- 
casion to  find  fault  with  him."  Ambition,  not  of  the 


Tin.]  LAST  YEARS  AND  DEATH.  169 

vaulting  kind,  which  "  overleaps  itself,"  but  of  a  steady, 
persistent,  intellectual  stamp,  was,  indeed,  I  think,  the  lead- 
ing quality  in  Sidney's  nature.  From  the  courtiers  of  the 
period,  the  Leicesters,  Oxfords,  Ormonds,  Hattons,  and  so 
forth,  this  mark  of  character  honourably  distinguished  him. 
And,  if  he  had  but  lived,  Elizabeth,  who  judged  her  serv- 
ants with  some  accuracy,  might  by  judicious  curbing  and 
parsimonious  encouragement  have  tempered  the  fine  steel 
of  his  frailty  into  a  blade  of  trenchant  edge.  There  was 
nothing  ignoble,  nothing  frivolous  in  his  ambition.  It  was 
rather  of  such  mettle  as  made  the  heroes  of  the  common- 
wealth :  pure  and  un  -  self  -  seeking,  but  somewhat  acrid. 
And  now  he  fretted  himself  too  much  because  of  evil- 
doers; impatiently  demanded  men  and  munitions  from  Eng- 
land; vented  his  bile  in  private  letters  against  Leicester. 
Sidney  was  justified  by  events.  The  campaign  dragged 
negligently  on ;  and  the  Commander  of  the  Forces  paid 
more  attention  to  banquets  and  diplomatic  intrigues  than 
to  the  rough  work  of  war.  But  the  tone  adopted  by  him 
in  his  irritation  was  hardly  prudent  for  so  young  and  so 
comparatively  needy  a  gentleman. 

Whatever  he  found  to  blame  in  Leicester's  conduct  of 
affairs,  Sidney  did  not  keep  aloof;  but  used  every  effort 
to  inspire  his  uncle  with  some  of  his  own  spirit.  At  the 
end  of  August  they  were  both  engaged  in  reducing  the  lit- 
tle fort  of  Doesburg  on  the  Yssel,  which  had  importance 
as  the  key  to  Zutphen.  It  fell  upon  the  2d  of  September ; 
and  on  the  13th  Zutphen  was  invested — Lewis  William  of 
Nassau,  Sir  John  Norris,  and  Sir  Philip  Sidney  command- 
ing the  land-forces,  and  Leicester  blockading  the  approach 
by  water.  The  Duke  of  Parma,  acting  for  Spain,  did  all 
be  could  to  reinforce  the  garrison  with  men  and  provisions. 
News  came  upon  the  21st  to  Leicester  that  a  considerable 
8*  M 


170  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHIP. 

convoy  was  at  Deventer  waiting  an  opportunity  to  enter 
the  town.  He  resolved  to  cut  off  these  supplies,  and  fixed 
an  early  hour  of  the  22d,  which  was  a  Thursday,  for  this 
operation.  We  have  a  letter,  the  last  which  Sidney  penned 
before  his  fatal  wound,  dated  from  the  camp  at  Zutphen 
upon  the  morning  of  the  engagement.  It  recommends 
Richard  Smyth,  "  her  Majesty's  old  servant,"  to  Sir  Francis 
Walsingham,  and  is  one  among  several  writings  of  the  kind 
which  show  how  mindful  Sidney  was  of  humble  friends 
and  people  in  distress.  The  22d  of  September  opened 
gloomily.  So  thick  a  mist  covered  the  Flemish  lowlands 
that  a  man  could  not  see  farther  than  ten  paces.  Sidney, 
leading  a  troop  of  two  hundred  horsemen,  pushed  his  way 
up  to  the  walls  of  Zutphen.  Chivalrous  punctilio  caused  him 
to  be  ill-defended,  for  meeting  Sir  William  Pelham  in  light 
armour,  he  threw  off  his  cuisses,  and  thus  exposed  himself 
to  unnecessary  danger.  The  autumn  fog,  which  covered 
every  object,  suddenly  dispersed;  and  the  English  now 
found  themselves  confronted  by  a  thousand  horsemen  of 
the  enemy,  and  exposed  to  the  guns  of  the  town.  They 
charged,  and  Sidney's  horse  was  killed  under  him.  He 
mounted  another,  and  joined  in  the  second  charge.  Rein- 
forcements came  up,  and  a  third  charge  was  made,  during 
which  he  received  a  wound  in  the  left  leg.  The  bullet, 
which  some  supposed  to  have  been  poisoned,  entered  above 
the  knee,  broke  the  bone,  and  lodged  itself  high  up  in  the 
thigh.  His  horse  took  fright,  and  carried  him  at  a  gallop 
from  the  field.  He  kept  his  seat,  however ;  and  when  the 
animal  was  brought  to  order,  had  himself  carried  to  Leices- 
ter's station.  On  the  way  occurred  the  incident  so  well- 
known  to  every  one  who  is  acquainted  with  his  name. 
"Being  thirsty  with  excess  of  bleeding,  he  called  for  drink, 
which  was  presently  brought  him ;  but  as  he  was  putting 


Tin.]  LAST  YEARS  AND  DEATH.  171 

the  bottle  to  his  mouth,  he  saw  a  poor  soldier  carried  along, 
who  had  eaten  his  last  at  the  same  feast,  ghastly  casting 
up  his  eyes  at  the  bottle,  which  Sir  Philip  perceiving,  took 
it  from  his  head  before  he  drank,  and  delivered  it  to  the 
poor  man,  with  these  words,  Thy  necessity  is  yet  greater 
than  mine.  And  when  he  had  pledged  this  poor  soldier, 
he  was  presently  carried  to  Arnheim." 

At*Arnheim  he  lay  twenty -five  days  in  the  house  of  a 
lady  named  Gruitthueisens.  At  first  the  surgeons  who  at- 
tended him  had  good  hopes  of  his  recovery.  Ten  days 
after  the  event  Leicester  wrote  to  Walsingharn :  "All  the 
worst  days  be  passed,  and  he  amends  as  well  as  possible  in 
this  time."  Friends  were  around  him — his  wife,  his  broth- 
ers Robert  and  Thomas,  and  the  excellent  minister,  George 
Gifford,  whom  he  sent  for  on  the  30th.  The  treatment  of 
the  wound  exposed  him  to  long  and  painful  operations, 
which  he  bore  with  a  sweet  fortitude  that  moved  the  sur- 
geons to  admiration.  With  Gifford  and  other  godly  men 
he  held  discourses  upon  religion  and  the  future  of  the  soul. 
He  told  Gifford  that  "  he  had  walked  in  a  vague  course ; 
and  these  words  he  spake  with  great  vehemence  both  of 
speech  and  gesture,  and  doubled  it  to  the  intent  that  it 
might  be  manifest  how  unfeignedly  he  meant  to  turn  more 
thoughts  unto  God  than  ever."  It  is  said  that  he  amused 
some  hours  of  tedious  leisure  by  composing  a  poem  on  La 
Cuisse  Rompue,  which  was  afterwards  sung  to  soothe  him. 
He  also  contrived  to  write  "  a  large  epistle  in  very  pure 
and  eloquent  Latin"  to  his  friend  Belarius  the  divine. 
Both  of  these  are  lost. 

As  time  wore  on  it  appeared  that  the  cure  was  not  ad- 
vancing. After  the  sixteenth  day,  says  Greville,  "  the  very 
shoulder-bones  of  this  delicate  patient  were  worn  through 
his  skin."  He  suffered  from  sharp  pangs  which  "  stang 


172  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

him  by  fits,"  and  felt  internally  that  his  case  was  desperate. 
"  One  morning  lifting  up  the  clothes  for  change  and  ease 
of  his  body,  he  smelt  some  extraordinary  noisome  savour 
about  him,  differing  from  oils  and  salves,  as  he  conceived." 
This  he  judged,  and  judged  rightly,  to  be  the  sign  of  "  in- 
ward mortification,  and  a  welcome  messenger  of  death." 
Thereupon  he  called  the  ministers  into  his  presence, "  and 
before  them  made  such  a  confession  of  Christian  faith  as 
no  book  but  the  heart  can  truly  and  feelingly  deliver." 
Death  had  its  terrors  for  his  soul ;  but  he  withstood  them 
manfully,  seeking  peace  and  courage  in  the  sacrifice  of  all 
earthly  affections.  "  There  came  to  my  mind,"  he  said  to 
Gifford,  "  a  vanity  in  which  I  delighted,  whereof  I  had  not 
rid  myself.  I  rid  myself  of  it,  and  presently  my  joy  and 
comfort  returned."  Soon  he  was  able  to  declare  :  "  I  would 
not  change  my  joy  for  the  empire  of  the  world."  Yet,  up 
to  the  very  last,  he  did  not  entirely  despair  of  life.  This 
is  proved  by  the  very  touching  letter  he  wrote  to  John 
Wier,  a  famous  physician,  and  a  friend  of  his.  It  runs 
thus  in  Latin  :  "  Mi  Wicre,  veni,  veni.  De  vita  periclitor 
et  te  cupio.  Nee  vivus,  nee  mortuus,  ero  ingratus.  Plura 
non  possum,  sed  obnixe  oro  ut  festines.  Yale.  Tuns  Ph. 
Sidney."  "  My  dear  friend  Wier,  come,  come.  I  am  in 
peril  of  rny  life,  and  long  for  you.  Neither  living  nor  dead 
shall  I  be  ungrateful.  I  cannot  write  more,  but  beg  you 
urgently  to  hurry.  Farewell.  Your  Ph.  Sidney."  In  this 
way  several  days  passed  slowly  on.  He  had  made  his  will 
upon  the  30th  of  September.  This  he  now  revised,  adding 
a  codicil  in  which  he  remembered  many  friends  and  serv- 
ants. The  document  may  be  read  in  Collins'  Sidney  Pa- 
pers. Much  of  it  is  occupied  with  provisions  for  the  child, 
with  which  his  wife  was  pregnant  at  this  time,  and  of 
which  she  was  afterwards  delivered  still  -  born.  But  the 


vin.J  LAST  YEARS  AND  DEATH.  173 

thoughtful  tenor  of  the  whole  justifies  Greville  in  saying 
that  it  "  will  ever  remain  for  a  witness  to  the  world  that 
those  sweet  and  large  affections  in  him  could  no  more  be 
contracted  with  the  narrowness  of  pain,  grief,  or  sickness, 
than  any  sparkle  of  our  immortality  can  be  privately  buried 
in  the  shadow  of  death." 

Reflecting  upon  the  past  he  exclaimed:  "All  things  in 
my  former  life  have  been  vain,  vain,  vain."  In  this  mood 
he  bade  one  of  his  friends  burn  the  Arcadia;  but  we  know 
not  whether  he  expressed  the  same  wish  about  Astrophel 
and  Stella.  On  the  morning  of  the  17th  of  October  it 
was  clear  that  he  had  but  a  few  hours  to  live.  His  brother 
Robert  gave  way  to  passionate  grief  in  his  presence,  which 
Philip  gently  stayed,  taking  farewell  of  him  in  these  mem- 
orable words :  "  Love  my  memory,  cherish  my  friends ; 
their  faith  to  me  may  assure  you  they  are  honest.  But 
above  all,  govern  your  will  and  affections  by  the  will  and 
word  of  your  Creator ;  in  me  beholding  the  end  of  this 
world  with  all  her  vanities."  Shortly  afterwards  he  sank 
into  speechlessness,  and  the  bystanders  thought  that  what 
he  had  greatly  dreaded — namely,  death  without  conscious- 
ness, would  befall  him.  Yet  when  they  prayed  him  for 
some  sign  of  his  "inward  joy  and  consolation  in  God,"  he 
held  his  hand  up  and  stretched  it  forward  for  a  little  while. 
About  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  he  again  responded  to 
a  similar  appeal  by  setting  his  hands  together  in  the  atti- 
tude of  prayer  upon  his  breast,  and  thus  he  expired. 

Sidney's  death  sent  a  thrill  through  Europe.  Leicester, 
who  truly  loved  him,  wrote  upon  the  25th7  in  words  of 
passionate  grief,  to  Walsingham.  Elizabeth  declared  that 
she  had  lost  her  mainstay  in  the  struggle  with  Spain. 
Duplessis  Mornay  bewailed  his  loss  "  not  for  England  only, 
but  for  all  Christendom."  Mendoza,  the  Spanish  secre- 


i74  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

tary,  said  that  though  he  could  not  but  rejoice  at  the  loss 
to  his  master  of  such  a  foe,  he  yet  lamented  to  see  Chris- 
tendom deprived  of  so  great  a  light,  and  bewailed  poor 
widowed  England.  The  Netherlanders  begged  to  be  al- 
lowed to  keep  his  body,  and  promised  to  erect  a  royal 
monument  to  his  memory,  uyea,  though  the  same  should 
cost  half-a-ton  of  gold  in  the  building."  But  this  petition 
was  rejected;  and  the  corpse,  after  embalmment,  was  re- 
moved to  Flushing.  There  it  lay  eight  days;  and  on  the 
1st  of  November  the  English  troops  accompanied  it  with 
military  honours  to  the  Black  Prince,  a  vessel  which  had 
belonged  to  Sidney.  On  the  5th  it  reached  Tower  Hill, 
and  on  the  16th  of  February  it  was  buried  with  pomp  in 
St.  Paul's.  This  long  delay  between  the  landing  in  Lon- 
don and  the  interment  arose  from  certain  legal  complica- 
tions, which  rendered  the  discharge  of  Sidney's  debts  dif- 
ficult. Walsingham  told  Leicester  that  he  would  have  to 
"  pay  for  him  about  six  thousand  pounds,  which  I  do  assure 
your  Lordship  hath  brought  me  into  a  most  desperate  and 
hard  state,  which  I  weigh  nothing  in  respect  of  the  loss  of 
the  gentleman  who  was  my  chief  worldly  comfort."  Lest 
this  should  seem  to  reflect  ill  upon  Sidney's  character,  it 
must  be  added  that  he  had  furnished  Walsingham  with  a 
power  of  attorney  to  sell  land,  and  had  expressly  consid- 
ered all  his  creditors  in  his  will.  But  his  own  death  hap- 
pened so  close  upon  his  father's,  and  the  will  was  so  im- 
perfect touching  the  sale  of  land,  that  his  wishes  could  not 
be  carried  into  effect.  This,  added  Walsingham,  "  doth 
greatly  afflict  me,  that  a  gentleman  that  hath  lived  so  un- 
spotted in  reputation,  and  had  so  great  care  to  see  all  men 
satisfied,  should  be  so  exposed  to  the  outcry  of  his  credit- 
ors." When  the  obstacles  had  been  surmounted  the  fu- 
neral was  splendid  and  public.  And  the  whole  nation  went 


viii.]  LAST  YEARS  AND  DEATH.  175 

into  mourning.  "  It  was  accounted  a  sin,"  says  the  author 
of  The  Life  and  Death  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  "  for  any 
gentleman  of  quality,  for  many  months  after,  to  appear  at 
Court  or  City  in  any  light  or  gaudy  apparel." 

I  have  told  the  story  of  Sidney's  last  days  briefly,  using 
the  testimony  of  those  who  knew  him  best,  or  who  were 
present  at  his  death-bed.  Comment  would  be  superfluous. 
There  is  a  singular  beauty  in  the  uncomplaining,  thought- 
ful, manly  sweetness  of  the  young  hero  cut  off  in  his  prime. 
Numberless  minute  touches,  of  necessity  omitted  here, 
confirm  the  opinion  that  Sidney  possessed  unique  charm 
and  exercised  a  spell  over  those  who  came  in  contact  with 
him.  All  the  letters  and  reports  which  deal  with  that  long 
agony  breathe  a  heartfelt  tenderness,  which  proves  how 
amiable  and  how  admirable  he  was.  The  character  must 
have  been  well-nigh  perfect  which  inspired  persons  so  dif- 
ferent as  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  George  Gifford,  and  Fulke 
Greville  with  the  same  devoted  love.  We  have  not  to  deal 
merely  with  the  record  of  an  edifying  end,  but  with  the 
longing  retrospect  of  men  whose  best  qualities  had  been 
drawn  forth  by  sympathy  with  his  incomparable  good- 
ness. 

The  limits  of  this  book  make  it  impossible  to  give  an 
adequate  account  of  the  multitudinous  literary  tributes  to 
Sidney's  memory,  which  appeared  soon  after  his  decease. 
Oxford  contributed  Exequiae  and  Peplus  ;  Cambridge  shed 
Lacrymae ;  great  wits  and  little,  to  the  number  it  is  said 
of  some  two  hundred,  expressed  their  grief  with  more  or 
less  felicity  of  phrase.  For  us  the  value  of  these  elegiac 
verses  is  not  great.  But  it  is  of  some  importance  to  know 
what  men  of  weight  and  judgment  said  of  him.  His  dear- 
est and  best  friend  has  been  so  often  quoted  in  these  pages 
that  we  are  now  familiar  with  Greville's  life-long  adora- 


176  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP: 

lion.     Yet  T  cannot  omit  the  general  character  he  gives  of 
Sidney : 

"  Indeed  he  was  a  true  model  of  worth ;  a  man  fit  for  conquest, 
plantation,  reformation,  or  what  action  soever  is  greatest  and  hardest 
among  men  :  withal,  such  a  lover  of  mankind  and  goodness,  that 
whoever  had  any  real  parts  in  him,  found  comfort,  participation,  and 
protection  to  the  uttermost  of  his  power :  like  Zephyrus,  he  giving 
life  where  he  blew.  The  universities  abroad  and  at  home  accounted^ 
him  a  general  Mecaenas  of  learning ;  dedicated  their  books  to  him  -j 
and  communicated  every  invention  or  improvement  of  knowledge! 
with  him.  Soldiers  honoured  him,  and  were  so  honoured  by  him  asj 
no  man  thought  he  marched  under  the  true  banner  of  Mars  that  hadj 
not  obtained  Sir  Philip  Sidney's  approbation.  Men  of  affairs  in  most; 
parts  of  Christendom  entertained  correspondency  with  him.  But 
what  speak  I  of  these,  with  whom  his  own  ways  and  ends  did  coij- 
cur  ?  Since,  to  descend,  his  heart  and  capacity  were  so  large  that 
there  was  not  a  cunning  painter,  a  skilful  engineer,  an  excellent  mu- 
sician, or  any  other  artificer  of  extraordinary  fame,  that  made  ijot 
himself  known  to  this  famous  spirit,  and  found  him  his  true  friend 

without  hire,  and  the  common  rendezvous  of  worth  in  his  time."    / 

/ 

Thomas  Nash  may  be  selected  as  the  representative  of 
literary  men  who  honoured  Sidney. 

"  Gentle  Sir  Philip  Sidney  !"  he  exclaims ;  "  thou  knewest  what  be- 
longed to  a  scholar ;  thou  knewest  what  pains,  what  toil,  what  travail, 
conduct  to  perfection  ;  well  couldst  thou  give  every  virtue  his  encour- 
agement, every  art  his  due,  every  writer  his  desert,  cause  none  more 
virtuous,  witty,  or  learned  than  thyself.  But  thou  art  dead  in  thy 
grave,  and  hast  left  too  few  successors  of  thy  glory,  too  few  to  cher- 
ish the  sons  of  the  Muses,  or  water  those  budding  hopes  with  their 
plenty,  which  thy  bounty  erst  planted." 

Lastly,  we  will  lay  the  ponderous  laurel-wreath,  woven  by 
grave  Cam  den,  on  his  tomb  : 

"  This  is  that  Sidney,  who,  as  Providence  seems  to  have  sent  him 
into  the  world  to  give  the  present  age  a  specimen  of  the  ancients,  so 
did  it  on  a  sudden  recall  him,  and  snatch  him  from  us,  as  more  wor- 


UNIVERSITY 

Tin.]  LAST  YEARS  AND  DEATHT"  177 

thy  of  heaven  than  earth ;  thus  where  virtue  comes  to  perfection,  it 
is  gone  in  a  trice,  and  the  best  things  are  never  lasting.  Rest  then 
in  peace,  0  Sidney,  if  I  may  be  allowed  this  address  !  We  will  not 
celebrate  your  memory  with  tears  bat  admiration ;  whatever  we  loved 
in  you,  as  the  best  of  authors  speaks  of  that  best  governor  of  Britain, 
whatever  we  admired  in  you,  still  continues,  and  will  continue  in  the 
memories  of  men,  the  revolutions  of  ages,  and  the  annals  of  time. 
Many,  as  inglorious  and  ignoble,  are  buried  in  oblivion ;  but  Sidney 
shall  live  to  all  posterity.  For,  as  the  Grecian  poet  has  it,  virtue's 
beyond  the  reach  of  fate." 

The  note  of  tenderness,  on  which  I  have  already  dwelt, 
sounds  equally  in  these  sentences  of  the  needy  man  of 
letters  and  the  learned  antiquarian. 

It  would  be  agreeable,  if  space  permitted,  to  turn  the 
pages  of  famous  poets  who  immortalised  our  hero ;  to 
glean  high  thoughts  from  Constable's  sonnets  to  Sir  Philip 
Sidney's  soul;  to  dwell  on  Raleigh's  well-weighed  qua- 
trains ;  to  gather  pastoral  honey  from  Spenser's  Astrophel, 
or  graver  meditations  from  his  Ruins  of  Time.  But  these 
are  in  the  hands  of  every  one ;  and  now,  at  the  close  of 
his  biography,  I  will  rather  let  the  voice  of  unpretending 
affection  be  heard.  Few  but  students,  I  suppose,  are  fa- 
miliar with  the  name  of  Matthew  Roydon,  or  know  that 
he  was  a  writer  of  some  distinction.  Perhaps  it  was  love 
for  Sidney  which  inspired  him  with  the  musical  but  un- 
equal poem  from  which  I  select  three  stanzas : 

"  Within  these  woods  of  Arcady 

He  chief  delight  and  pleasure  took ; 
And  on  the  mountain  Partheny, 
Upon  the  crystal  liquid  brook, 
The  Muses  met  him  every  day, 
That  taught  him  sing,  to  write  and  say. 

"  When  he  descended  down  the  mount, 
His  personage  seemed  most  divine ; 


178  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

A  thousand  graces  one  might  count 

Upon  his  lovely  cheerful  eyrie. 
To  hear  him  speak,  and  sweetly  smile, 
You  were  in  Paradise  the  while. 

"  A  sweet  attractive  kind  of  grace ; 

A  full  assurance  given  by  looks ; 
Continual  comfort  in  a  face ; 

The  lineaments  of  Gospel  books  : 
I  trow  that  countenance  cannot  lie, 
Whose  thoughts  are  legible  in  the  eye." 

Among  Spenser's  works,  incorporated  in  his  Astrophel, 
occurs  an  elegy  of  languid  but  attractive  sweetness,  which 
the  great  poet  ascribes  to  the  Countess  of  Pembroke,  sister 
by  blood  to  Sidney,  and  sister  of  his  soul.  Internal  evi- 
dence might  lead  to  the  opinion  that  this  "  doleful  lay  of 
Clorinda,"  as  it  is  usually  called,  was  not  written  by  Lady 
Pembroke,  but  was  composed  for  her  by  the  author  of  the 
Faery  Queen.  Yet  the  style  is  certainly  inferior  to  that 
of  Spenser  at  its  best,  and  critics  of  mark  incline  to  accept 
it  literally  as  her  production.  This  shall  serve  me  as  an 
excuse  for  borrowing  some  of  its  verses : 

"  What  cruel  hand  of  cursed  foe  unknown 

Hath  cropped  the  stalk  which  bore  so  fair  a  flower  ? 

Untimely  cropped,  before  it  well  were  grown, 
And  clean  defaced  in  untimely  hour ! 

Great  loss  to  all  that  ever  him  did  see, 

Great  loss  to  all,  but  greatest  loss  to  me  I 

"  Break  now  your  garlands,  oh,  ye  shepherds'  lasses, 
Since  the  fair  flower  which  them  adorned  is  gone ; 

The  flower  which  them  adorned  is  gone  to  ashes  ; 
Never  again  let  lass  put  garland  on  ; 

Instead  of  garland,  wear  sad  cypress  now, 

And  bitter  elder  broken  from  the  bough." 


viir.]  LAST  YEARS  AND  DEATH.  179 

The  reiteration  of  phrases  in  these  softly-falling  stanzas 
recalls  the  plaining  of  thrush  or  blackbird  in  the  dewy  si- 
lence of -May  evenings.  But  at  the  close  of  her  long  des- 
cant, Urania  changes  to  thoughts  of  the  heaven  whose 
light  has  been  increased  by  the  "  fair  and  glittering  rays  " 
of  Astrophel.  Then  her  inspiration  takes  a  loftier  flight. 
Meditations  are  suggested  which  prelude  to  Lycidas  and 
Adonais.  A  parallel,  indeed,  both  of  diction  and  idea  be- 
tween this  wilding  flower  of  song  and  the  magnificent 
double-rose  of  Shelley's  threnody  on  Keats  can  be  traced 
in  the  following  four  stanzas : — 

"  But  that  immortal  spirit,  which  was  decked 

With  all  the  dowries  of  celestial  grace, 
By  sovereign  choice  from  the  heavenly  choirs  select, 

And  lineally  derived  from  angel's  race, 
Oh,  what  is  now  of  it  become,  aread ! 
Ah  me,  can  so  divine  a  thing  be  dead  ? 

"  Ah  no !  it  is  not  dead,  nor  can  it  die, 

But  lives  for  aye  in  blissful  paradise, 
Where,  like  a  new-born  babe  it  soft  doth  lie, 

In  beds  of  lilies  wrapped  in  tender  wise, 
And  compassed  all  about  with  roses  sweet 
And  dainty  violets  from  head  to  feet 

**  There  lieth  he  in  everlasting  bliss, 

Sweet  spirit,  never  fearing  more  to  die ; 
Nor  dreading  harm  from  any  foes  of  his, 

Nor  fearing  savage  beasts'  more  cruelty: 
Whilst  we  here,  wretches,  wail  his  private  lack, 
And  with  vain  vows  do  often  call  him  back. 

"  But  live  thou  there  still,  happy,  happy  spirit, 

And  give  us  leave  thee  here  thus  to  lament, 
Not  thee  that  dost  thy  heaven's  joy  inherit, 
But  our  own  selves  that  here  in  dole  are  drent. 


180  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

Thus  do  we  weep  and  wail  and  wear  our  eyes, 
Mourning  in  others  our  own  miseries." 

One  couplet  by  a  nameless  playwright  upon  the  death  of 
Sidney's  aunt  by  marriage,  the  Lady  Jane  Grey,  shall  serve 
to  end  this  chapter  : 

"  An  innocent  to  die,  what  is  it  less 
But  to  add  angels  to  heaven's  happiness  I" 

EPILOGUE.  \ 

WHEN  we  review  the  life  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  it  is  certain 
that  one  thought  will  survive  all  other  thoughts  about  him 
in  our  mind.  This  man,  we  shall  say,  was  born  to  show 
the  world  what  goes  to  the  making  of  an  English  gentle- 
man. But  he  belonged  to  his  age;  and  the  age  of  Eliza- 
beth differed  in  many  essential  qualities  from  the  age  of 
Anne  and  from  the  age  of  Victoria.  Sidney  was  the  typi- 
cal English  gentleman  of  the  modern  era  at  the  moment  of 
transition  from  the  mediaeval  period.  He  was  the  hero  of 
our  Renaissance.  His  nature  combined  chivalry  and  piety, 
courtly  breeding  and  humane  culture,  statesmanship  and 
loyalty,  in  what  Wotton  so  well  called  "  the  very  essence 
of  congruity."  Each  of  these  elements  may  be  found 
singly  and  more  strikingly  developed  in  other  characters  of 
his  epoch.  In  him  they  were  harmoniously  mixed  and 
fused  as  by  some  spiritual  chemistry.  In  him  they  shone 
with  a  lustre  peculiar  to  the  a  spacious  times  of  great 
Elizabeth,"  with  a  grace  and  purity  distinctive  of  his  unique 
personality.  To  make  this  image  charming — this  image, 
not  of  king  or  prince  or  mighty  noble,  but  of  a  perfect 
gentleman — the  favour  of  illustrious  lineage  and  the  grave 


vin.]  EPILOGUE.  181 

beauty  of  his  presence  contributed  in  no  small  measure. 
There  was  something  Phoebean  in  his  youthful  dignity : 

"  When  he  descended  down  the  mount, 
His  personage  seemed  most  divine." 

Men  of  weight  and  learning  were  reminded  by  him  of 
the  golden  antique  past:  "Providence  seems  to  have  sent 
him  into  the  world  to  give  the  present  age  a  specimen  of 
the  ancients."  What  the  Athenians  called  KaXoKayaOia, 
that  blending  of  physical  and  moral  beauty  and  goodness 
in  one  pervasive  virtue,  distinguished  him  from  the  crowd 
of  his  countrymen,  with  whom  goodness  too  often  assumed 
an  outer  form  of  harshness  and  beauty  leaned  to  effemi- 
nacy or  insolence.  He  gave  the  present  age  a  specimen  of 
the  ancients  by  the  plasticity  of  his  whole  nature,  the  ex- 
act correspondence  of  spiritual  and  corporeal  excellences, 
which  among  Greeks  would  have  marked  him  out  for 
sculpturesque  idealisation. 

It  was  to  his  advantage  that  he  held  no  office  of  impor- 
tance, commanded  no  great  hereditary  wealth,  had  done  no 
deeds  that  brought  him  envy,  had  reached  no  station  which 
committed  him  to  rough  collision  with  the  world's  brazen 
interests.  Death,  and  the  noble  manner  of  his  death,  set 
seal  to  the  charter  of  immortality  which  the  expectation  of 
contemporaries  had  already  drafted.  He  was  withdrawn 
from  the  contention  of  our  earth,  before  time  and  opportu- 
nity proved  or  compromised  his  high  position.  Glorious- 
ly, he  passed  into  the  sphere  of  idealities ;  and  as  an  ideal, 
he  is  for  ever  living  and  for  ever  admirable.  Herein  too 
there  was  something  Greek  in  his  good  fortune;  something 
which  assimilates  him  to  the  eternal  youthfulness  of  Hel- 
las, and  to  the  adolescent  heroes  of  mythology. 

This  should  not  divert  our  thoughts  from  the  fact  that 


182  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

Sidney  was  essentially  an  Elizabethan  gentleman.  His 
chivalry  belonged  to  a  period  when  knightly  exercises  were 
still  in  vogue,  when  bravery  attired  itself  in  pomp,  when  the 
Mort  <T Arthur  retained  its  fascination  for  youths  of  noble 
nurture.  Those  legends  needed  then  no  adaptations  from 
a  Laureate's  golden  quill  to  make  them  popular.  Yet  they 
were  remote  enough  to  touch  the  soul  with  poetry,  of 
which  the  earlier  and  cruder  associations  had  by  time  been 
mellowed.  Knight-errantry  expressed  itself  in  careers  like 
that  of  Stukeley,  in  expeditions  like  those  of  Drake  and 
Raleigh.  Lancelot's  and  Tristram's  love  had  passed  through 
the  crucible  of  the  Italian  poets. 

Sidney's  piety  was  that  of  the  Reformation,  now  at 
length  accomplished  and  accepted  in  England  after  a  se- 
vere struggle.  Un sapped  by  criticism,  undimmed  by  cen- 
turies of  ease  and  toleration,  the  Anglican  faith  acquired 
reality  and  earnestness  from  the  gravity  of  the  European 
situation.  Spain  threatened  to  enslave, the  world.  The 
Catholic  reaction  was  rolling  spiritual  darkness,  like  a  cloud, 
northward,  over  nations  wavering  as  yet  between  the  old 
and  the  new  creed.  Four  years  before  his  birth  Loyola 
founded  the  Company  of  Jesus.  During  his  lifetime  this 
Order  invaded  province  after  province,  spreading  like  leav- 
en through  populations  on  the  verge  of  revolt  against 
Rome.  The  Council  of  Trent  began  its  sessions  while  he 
was  in  his  cradle.  Its  work  was  finished,  the  final  rupture 
of  the  Latin  Church  with  Protestantism  was  accomplished, 
twenty-three  years  before  his  death  at  Zutphen.  He  grew 
to  boyhood  during  Mary's  reactionary  reign.  It  is  well  to 
bear  these  dates  in  mind ;  they  prove  how  exactly  Sidney's 
life  corresponded  with  the  first  stage  of  renascent  and  bel- 
ligerent Catholicism.  The  perils  of  the  time,  brought  fear- 
fully home  to  himself  by  his  sojourn  in  Paris  on  the  night 


viii.]  EPILOGUE.  183 

of  St.  Bartholomew,  deepened  religious  convictions  which 
might  otherwise  have  been  but  lightly  held  by  him.  Yet 
he  was  no  Puritan.  Protestantism  in  England  had  as  yet 
hardly  entered  upon  that  phase  of  its  development.  It 
was  still  possible  to  be  sincerely  godly  (as  the  Earl  of  Es- 
sex called  him),  without  sacrificing  the  grace  of  life  or  the 
urbanities  of  culture. 

His  education  was  in  a  true  sense  liberal.  The  new 
learning  of  the  Italian  Renaissance  had  recently  taken  root 
in  England,  and  the  methods  of  the  humanists  were  being 
applied  with  enthusiasm  in  our  public  schools.  Ancient 
literature,  including  the  philosophers  and  historians  of  Ath- 
ens, formed  the  staple  of  a  young  man's  intellectual  train- 
ing. Yet  no  class  at  once  so  frivolous  and  pedantic,  so 
servile  and  so  vicious,  as  the  Italian  humanists,  monopolised 
the  art  of  teaching.  Roger  Ascham,  the  tutor  of  princes ; 
Sir  John  Cheke,  at  Cambridge;  Carnden,  at  Westminster; 
Thomas  Ashton,  at  Shrewsbury,  were  men  from  whom 
nothing  but  sound  learning  and  good  morals  could  be  im- 
bibed. England  enjoyed  the  rare  advantage  of  receiving 
both  Renaissance  and  Reformation  at  the  same  epoch. 
The  new  learning  came  to  our  shores  under  the  garb  of 
Erasmus  rather  than  Filelfo.  It  was  penetrated  with  sober 
piety  and  enlightened  philosophy  instead  of  idle  scepti- 
cism and  academical  rhetoric.  Thus  the  foundations  of 
Sidney's  culture  were  broadly  laid ;  and  he  was  enabled  to 
build  a  substantial  superstructure  on  them.  No  better 
companion  of  his  early  manhood  could  have  been  found 
than  Languet,  who  combined  the  refinements  of  southern 
with  the  robust  vigour  of  northern  scholarship.  The  acqui- 
sition of  French,  Italian,  Dutch,  and  Spanish  led  him  to 
compare  modern  authors  with  the  classics ;  while  his  trav- 
els through  Europe  brought  him  acquainted  with  various 
39 


184  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP. 

manners  and  with  the  leading  men  of  several  parties.  An 
education  so  complete  and  many-sided  polished  Sidney's 
excellent  natural  parts,  until  he  shone  the  mirror  of  accom- 
plished gentlehood.  He  never  forgot  that,  in  his  case, 
studies  had  to  be  pursued,  not  as  an  end  in  themselves,  hut 
as  the  means  of  fitting  him  for  a  public  career.  Diligent 
as  he  was  in  the  pursuit  of  knowledge,  he  did  not  suffer 
himself  to  become  a  bookworm.  Athletic  exercise^  re- 
ceived as  much  of  his  attention  as  poetry  or  logic.  Con- 
verse with  men  seemed  to  him  more  important  than  cdm- 
munion  with  authors  in  their  printed  works.  In  a  word,  lie 
realised  the  ideal  of  Castiglione's  courtier,  and  personified 
Plato's  Euphues,  in  whom  music  was  to  balance  gymnastic.! 

His  breeding  was  that  of  a  Court  which  had  assumed  1 
the  polish  of  Italy  and  France,  and  with  that  polish  some 
of  their  vices  and  affectations.  Yet  the  Court  of  Elizabeth 
was,  in  the  main,  free  from  such  corruption  as  disgraced 
that  of  the  Valois,  and  from  such  crimes  as  shed  n  sinister 
light  upon  the  society  of  Florence  or  Ferrara.  It  was  purer 
and  more  manly  than  the  Court  of  James  L,  and  even  that 
remained  superior  to  the  immoralities  and  effeminacies  of 
southern  capitals.  The  queen,  with  all  her  faults,  main- 
tained a  high  standard  among  her  servants.  They  repre- 
sented the  aristocracy  of  a  whole  and  puissant  nation, 
united  by  common  patriotism  and  inspired  by  enthusiasm 
for  their  sovereign.  Conflicting  religious  sympathies  and 
discordant  political  theories  might  divide  them  ;  but  in  the 
hour  of  danger,  they  served  their  country  alike,  as  was 
shown  on  the  great  day  of  the  Spanish  Armada. 

Loyalty,  at  that  epoch,  still  retained  the  sense  of  person- 
al duty.  The  medieval  conviction  that  national  well-being 
depended  on  maintaining  a  hierarchy  of  classes,  bound  to- 
gether by  reciprocal  obligations  and  ascending  privileges, 


viu.]  EPILOGUE.  186 

and  presided  over  by  a  monarch  who  claimed  the  allegiance 
of  all,  had  not  broken  down  in  England.  This  loyalty, 
like  Protestant  piety,  was  braced  by  the  peculiar  dangers 
of  the  State,  and  by  the  special  perils  to  which  the  life  of 
a  virgin  queen  was  now  exposed.  It  had  little  in  common 
with  decrepit  affection  for  a  dynasty,  or  with  such  homage 
as  nobles  paid  their  prince  in  the  Italian  despotisms.  It 
was  fed  by  the  belief  that  the  commonwealth  demanded 
monarchy  for  its  support.  The  Stuarts  had  not  yet 
brought  the  name  of  loyalty  into  contempt;  and  at  the 
same  time  this  virtue,  losing  its  feudal  rigidity,  assumed 
something  of  romantic  grace  and  poetic  sentiment.  Eng- 
land was  personified  by  the  lady  on  the  throne. 

In  his  statesmanship,  Sidney  displayed  the  independent 
spirit  of  a  well-born  Englishman,  controlled  by  loyalty  as 
we  have  just  described  it.  He  was  equally  removed  from 
servility  to  his  sovereign,  and  from  the  underhand  subtle- 
ties of  a  would-be  Machiavelli.  In  serving  the  queen  he 
sought  to  serve  the  State.  His  Epistle  on  the  French 
Match,  and  his  Defence  of  Sir  Henry  Sidney's  Irish  Ad- 
ministration, revealed  a  candour  rare  among  Elizabeth's 
courtiers.  With  regard  to  England's  policy  in  Europe,  he 
declared  for  a  bold,  and  possibly  a  too  Quixotic  interfer- 
ence in  foreign  affairs.  Surveying  the  struggle  between 
Catholicism  and  Protestantism,  Spanish  tyranny  and  na- 
tional liberties,  he  apprehended  the  situation  as  one  of  ex- 
treme gravity,  and  was  by  no  means  willing  to  temporise 
or  trifle  with  it.  In  his  young-eyed  enthusiasm,  so  differ- 
ent from  Burleigh's  world-worn  prudence,  he  desired  that 
Elizabeth  should  place  herself  at  the  head  of  an  alliance  of 
the  Reformed  Powers.  Mature  experience  of  the  home  gov- 
ernment, however,  reduced  these  expectations;  and  Sidney 
threw  himself  upon  a  romantic  but  well-weighed  scheme 
9 


186  SIR  PHILIP  SIDNEY.  [CHAP.  vm. 

of  colonisation.  In  each  case  he  recommended  a  great 
policy,  defined  in  its  object,  and  worthy  of  a  powerful 
race,  to  the  only  people  whom  he  thought  capable  of  car- 
rying it  out  effectively. 

This  kindly  blending  of  many  qualities,  all  of  them  Eng- 
lish, all  of  them  characteristic  of  Elizabethan  England, 
made  Sir  Philip  Sidney  the  ideal  of  his  generation,  and  for 
us  the  sweetest  interpreter  of  its  best  aspirations.  The 
essence  of  congruity,  determining  his  private  and  his  public 
conduct,  in  so  many  branches  of  active  life,  caused  a  loving 
nation  to  hail  him  as  their  Euphues.  That  he  was  not  de- 
void of  faults,  faults  of  temper  in  his  dealings  with  friends 
and  servants,  graver  faults  perhaps  in  his  love  for  Stella, 
adds  to  the  reality  of  his  character.  Shelley  was  hardly 
justified  in  calling  him  "  Sublimely  mild,  a  spirit  without 
spot."  During  those  last  hours  upon  his  death-bed  at  Arn- 
heim,  he  felt  that  much  in  his  past  life  had  been  but  vani- 
ty, that  some  things  in  it  called  for  repentance.  But  the  evil 
inseparable  from  humanity  was  conquered  long  before  the 
end.  Few  spirits  so  blameless,  few  so  thoroughly  prepared 
to  enter  upon  new  spheres  of  activity  and  discipline,  have 
left  this  earth.  The  multitudes  who  knew  him  personally, 
those  who  might  have  been  jealous  of  him,  and  those  who 
owed  him  gratitude,  swelled  one  chorus  in  praise  of  his  nat- 
ural goodness,  his  intellectual  strength  and  moral  beauty. 
We  who  study  his  biography,  and  dwell  upon  their  testi- 
mony to  his  charm,  derive  from  Sidney  the  noblest  lesson 
bequeathed  by  Elizabethan  to  Victorian  England.  It  is  a 
lesson  which  can  never  lose  its  value  for  Greater  Britain 
also,  and  for  that  confederated  empire  which  shall,  if  fate 
defeat  not  the  high  aspirations  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race, 
arise  to  be  the  grandest  birth  of  future  time. 

THE    END. 


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